


Relevant Path

by xhiki



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fix-It, Plot, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-10 02:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4373099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xhiki/pseuds/xhiki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both needed time, but some wounds would take much longer to heal. Post If-Then-Else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He's not talking. Not yet.

Her patience wore thin, and she suppressed the urge to fire a shot into his chest.

_I'm not the monster I used to be. I've changed. Well, mostly changed._

It would be so easy. Slick metal solid in her grip. Her finger itched to pull the trigger just once, firing a single bullet, releasing all this anger and pain.

It wasn't the trigger she longed to touch.

With a deep breath she blinked into the dim room. The demons haunting her remained close to the surface. Her past always threatening to take a step forward.  None of that mattered now. Only one regret kept her awake at night.

_This is all my fault._

He would get one more chance to talk. If he refused, she would end his life. Killing never came easily, but she needed answers.

Anything that might help her find Shaw.

***

"Don't worry, Harry. Things are starting to get interesting." Root glared at the man with his arms and legs tied, slumped in the corner of the near-empty warehouse. She tucked her gun into the waistband of her slender black pants and kneeled in front of the frightened security guard. The contact from her gun grip knocked out more than one of his front teeth. Bright red blood escaped the corner of his mouth, staining his white shirt collar. Greg found himself in an alarming situation, and Root's interrogation was just getting started.  
  
Root tilted her head and spoke in a soft voice. "Looks like the cat's out of the bag, Greg." She knew all about the man tied in front of her. She first started trailing him around New York weeks ago, surveying and cataloging his every interaction. Greg Thompson was a former operative of Decima Technologies. She found his work history impressive for a Decima lackey, but she held no interest in this man beyond the secrets he kept concealed.   
  
"Now, I know you're not going to tell me what I want to know." She leaned in closer. "At least not without some encouragement. I'm amazed you managed to survive this long. I thought all of Decima's former operatives had been eliminated by now. Tell me, how did you manage to slip through the cracks? It's not like you've been in hiding. I mean, I found you." She stood up and began circling the room. "You're all tied up, Greg. No jumping out the window today."   
  
With her weapon raised, she pointed it at the beaten man. Men like this might be willing to die with their secrets, but Greg didn't believe in the cause. He couldn't even begin to grasp the bigger picture. They tried doing this Harold's way, but Harry was soft. Not every problem could be solved with words. Sometimes you have to take action. Now it was time to do this her way.   
  
"I forgot, guns don't scare you do they? Your father was in the Military, and he had quite an impressive collection. His Smith and Wesson was your favorite. The gun reminded you of the old western movies the two of you watched together on Sunday afternoons." The color drained from Greg's face. "He taught you how to fire a gun when you were eleven years old.”

His eyes grew wide as he listened to the woman in front of him speak. He never talked about his father or his past. Fear struck him as he wondered how she acquired this information. If she knew this, what else did she know?

Root pulled a scalpel out of her pocket. The small blade glistened between her fingers. "You didn't think our conversation was over, did you? I've cleared my schedule just for you." She walked over and placed the scalpel's sharp edge against the soft skin near his eye. He tried to hide the panic from his expression, but his body betrayed him. Sweat began to streak across his face from his brow to his temple. He might talk sooner than expected. 

The warehouse door opened abruptly, and a dark haired woman stepped inside. "Sorry to break up your play date, but we need to leave now," she said, sending a stern glance in Root's direction.

Root looked over at the woman and rolled her eyes. "Now Harry?" 

"Listen to Ms. Silva," Harry intervened through Root's earpiece. "You're about to receive some unwelcome company in no less than ten minutes by my approximation." His voice trembled slightly nervous as it came through.

"I'm afraid this is where we part ways, Greg." Root sent him a sideways smile on her way out the door while firing off one bullet into Greg Thompson's kneecap, sending him flailing in pain. Her eyes intensified from the sound of the shot and the scent of gunsmoke. Energy pulsed through her veins and in this brief instant, she was alive.

Root kept on Silva's heels as they headed for the street through the building's back door, following Harold's directions. She reached for her second gun, holding both weapons fully extended at arm's length. Silva opened the door slowly, assessing their surroundings, and motioned towards Root. As they raced down the alley, a black SUV screeched to a halt, blocking their only exit. Two men jumped out of the vehicle and rushed towards them. _Samaritan operatives._

"Shit, now what?" Silva sounded agitated. 

"Harold, time for your backup plan." Root, on the other hand, embraced the opportunity to shoot a few operatives. She welcomed these distractions. Anything to keep busy so her mind wouldn't wander.

"One moment ladies. Rerouting. Head back in and turn right. You'll find a service elevator at the end of the hall. This path should lead you to a parking garage."

"Root, you head inside. I'm going to hold these guys off." Silva's brown eyes narrowed in concentration, and Root nodded before slipping back through the door and into the dark hallway. 

The sound of gunfire from Silva and the Samaritan agents grew distant as she approached the elevator. She hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. Her chest tightened as she entered the confined space. The walls seemed to close in, and she held her breath for a moment, forcing her eyes shut. She tried to focus her thoughts on revenge, the driving force that kept her going. _Find Sameen, get Revenge._ She repeated under her breath until the elevator abruptly stopped and the doors swung open.

Greer eluded her for months, but he would reappear eventually. They had unfinished business. She didn’t have the luxury of waiting. If she wanted to find Sameen she would need to track him down. She returned from her thoughts when the elevator arrived at P1, and four large men greeted her with guns. 

"Harry, I think we have a slight problem." 

She scanned the space. Aside from the operatives and their two black vehicles, the parking garage appeared vacant. A fluorescent light hummed and flickered from above. Root stared up at the light as it fought to stay lit. 

"Ms. Groves, are you all right?" Harold asked with concern. 

"Just a few Samaritan operatives crashing the party."

"Drop your weapons," shouted one of the men from behind his gun. 

She slowly set both of her guns on the ground and raised her arms. She hoped Silva faced better luck than she did. The men looked like standard issue Samaritan operatives in tacky black suits. They became an all too familiar sight and were usually well-trained, but nothing she couldn't handle. One of the men grabbed Root firmly by the arm. He kept his grip tight as he yanked her through the parking garage towards one of the vehicles. Another man stepped out of the passenger's side with a grin on his face. 

"Ms. Groves, what a pleasant surprise. I hear you’ve been looking for me?" 

"Don't flatter yourself. And my name is Root." She forced a smile, but something sinister flashed within her eyes. Jeremy Lambert sauntered over, and Root wanted to shoot the smug smile right off his face. 

She searched for Jeremy for some time now, but the trail always went cold. Samaritan managed to keep its best operatives well hidden. What dark hiding place had he crawled out of and why was he here now?

Lambert took a step closer. "You've come so far. It is a shame to see such potential wasted. You seem like such a smart girl. If only you chose your team a little more carefully." He raised his gun and a dull light shimmered off the long barrel of the silencer. She was getting used to having guns pointed at her head these days. She stared down the barrel making no attempt to look away. This was the moment when her life should flash before her eyes. The thought almost made her laugh. With the life she led, sometimes she was amazed she had made it this far. 

Lambert stared at her with interest before lowering his weapon. "I'm not going to shoot you, Ms. Groves. At least, not today." He seemed rather proud of himself like he did her a great service by sparing her life. "I'm meant to deliver a message."

Root frowned and narrowed her eyes. "Why now, after all these months?"  

As Lambert began to reply, a shot echoed through the parking garage and the man grasping Root's arm fell to the ground. Jeremy ducked behind his vehicle and raised his weapon in anticipation. "I'm afraid I must cut this meeting short. Do come find me when you're ready to continue our conversation. I trust you're still in contact with your God? Oh, and Ms. Groves, it would be wise if you kept this little exchange between the two of us." 

"What's the message?" She pleaded over the sound of gunfire. _How do I get in touch? Is Shaw Alive?_ So many questions raced through Root's mind, but it was already too late. Jeremy Lambert hopped into the passenger's side, and the car screeched away leaving her standing bewildered while bullets continued to soar around her in all directions. 

The other three men scrambled behind the vehicles at the sound of oncoming fire. One tried to grab hold of her. Pleased by his stupidity and happy for the opportunity to finally shoot someone, she fired two shots at his kneecaps. He would be fine, but her finger against the familiar metal trigger offered a sense of comfort. She took cover behind a nearby car and waited. Whoever was doing the shooting didn't seem to be aiming for her.

_Bang._

The shots continue and she heard loud thumps as bodies dropped to the ground followed by an eerie silence. 

"Ms. Groves, are you there?" Harold's voice came through as a soft whisper. "I sent Mr. Reese to offer some assistance." 

Just as Harold finished relaying the message, Reese appeared lowering his gun to his side. "Finch mentioned you could use a hand, and I happened to be in the neighborhood."

Root clenched her jaw. His appearance ruined her only real shot at getting answers. Reese always needed to be the hero. "Great timing, John," her remark dripped with sarcasm. He glanced at her with a blank stare, unaware how saving her life could be a bad thing.  
  
"Next time, Ms. Groves, do try to be more careful." Harold scolded her over the comms. "When I ask you to vacate the building, you'll find it wise to listen."   
  
"Maybe if your Machine wasn't taking a leave of absence." The scowl on Root's face turned somber as she searched her thoughts for the last time She provided any useful information.

"I never thought I'd be grateful for an interruption like Samaritan, but Ms. Groves, what you were about to do...that's not us. That's not who we are."

"That's not who you are Harold. I'm doing what needs to be done. Whatever it takes to find her. Just because you've given up."

"Ms Groves—"

"I need to go back up." She didn't want to hear his excuses. _Not again_. "We should bring Greg back to the safe house."   
  
"He's gone," Silva called over the comms.   
  
_Not again. Not like this._ They were close this time. She had to believe that. The disappoint hit hard this time. "No use standing around." She tried to keep her voice neutral, unfazed by Silva's news or the surprise visit by Jeremy Lambert, but she found it difficult. Her throat tightened, and each breath sat heavily on her chest as she turned to walk away. 

*** 

Root headed towards her apartment letting her mind wander to thoughts she tried so hard to keep buried. She was in no hurry to return. Her body ached for sleep, but only nightmares waited for her when she closed her eyes.

She tossed her jacket onto the nearby sofa and headed into the kitchen. The cupboards appeared bare except for coffee, tea, and an extra supply of ammunition. She was home, but this apartment didn’t feel like home anymore. No place did. She wasn’t even sure what home should feel like, but this was nothing more than a stopping off place.

This city where she finally started to make a life for herself suddenly seemed cold and uninviting. The edges of the tapestry that were once so clear now blurred like another memory from her past. She put water on for tea and took a seat at the nearby counter, lowering her head. 

Today didn't go as planned. That was an understatement. Lambert came looking for her. He had a message? A message about Shaw? An overwhelming sense of determination slowly replaced the aching defeat. Someone had to keep the search going. Harold and Reese only humored her at this point. They had given up long ago. Was a little hope so hard to hold on to? 

Most of the searching she did on her own; she preferred it this way. She still wasn't comfortable relying on others, not when it was followed by doubt.From the time she was young Samantha Groves living in Texas—a life that seemed so long ago—she was on her own. She was used to working alone, but right now she could use a little help. Somehow, she always seemed to be one step behind. She closed her eyes to steady the anger rising inside, and the memories rushed in without warning.

_She had returned to the small space surrounded by bright blue walls. Shaw stood in front of her and looked into her eyes, seeing her for what seemed like the first time. The look bore deep into her chest making it impossible to breathe. Warm contact followed and didn't last long enough. It was bittersweet and almost instantly crushing as they broke apart._

_The cold crept in, bringing sharp stabbing pains like a knife cutting through her lungs. Her hands gripped the metal grating of the elevator doors. It felt unreal yet so vivid, and one lasting image haunted her every time she closed her eyes, preventing her from sleeping at night: Shaw's empty eyes as she lay motionless on the ground._

The loud sound of a gunshot resonated through her head and her eyes jerked open. The kettle whistled on the stovetop like an alarm pulling her back towards reality, but the pain from the memory did not fade. It clutched her insides and left her head throbbing. Her hands shook as she reached out to turn off the element.

Root entered the washroom and glanced sideways at her reflection in the glass-fronted cabinet that lined the wall. "Fuck," she whispered as she took in her own appearance. Dark circles set heavy under her bloodshot eyes. The pale and worn reflection of a crazed killer stared back; someone who should be locked away in Ridge Stone Psychiatric Facility. Harold put her there once.     

Her finger brushed along the outline of bruises lining her shoulder. She thought about Cyrus Wells, the Machine's harsh lesson in humanity. It was the first time she fully weighed the extent of her actions and their effects on the lives of others. The moment she left him on the balcony after saving his life, she pushed his story to the back of her mind. She had more important things to consider—she still did. Now when she lay awake at night, the memories arrived without warning. Not just Cyrus but others as well. Other lives she claimed in the past. _Would these memories haunt her forever?_ She never enjoyed ending a life, but sometimes it was necessary.

Life had been much easier when she could carry out a hit and collect payment without attachment. She moved from one place to another free of regret and this aching emptiness. Now, she let these people into her life. _She let Shaw in._ She hated the emotions consuming her because this was worse than killing.

Once her body begin to steady, she headed to the bedroom. She hadn't slept for more than two hours at a time in months. Fear of her thoughts kept her from even trying most nights. Exhaustion took hold, and every inch of her body seemed to ache. She should at least try to sleep. _Is Sameen asleep right now? Is she wide awake in some dark place, broken and alone?_  Her head hit the pillow, and she shut her eyes, trying to will away the disappointment of another day without answers.


	2. Chapter 2

A loud ring cut through the silence like an alarm clock shaking Root from her thoughts. She rolled over, grabbed her cell phone and checked the time. At least she had managed to sleep for a few hours. This dream was pleasant compared to most and her final moments with Shaw still lingered.

"Isn't it a little early for a check-up call, Harry? Don't worry, I haven't killed anyone during the hours we weren't in contact." Root ran a hand through her hair and rubbed her tired eyes. It was six in the morning and the words of Harold Finch slowly replaced the sound of Shaw's voice from her dream.

"I can assure you this is not why I'm calling, Ms. Groves. We could use your help today if your schedule permits?"

"Hmm…will I get to shoot anyone?" She smirked, imagining the uncomfortable look on Harold’s face.

“Ms. Groves..." Harold sounded like he already regretted the invitation.

"Fine, I suppose I can lend a hand. Normally I would have better things to do than help save one of your little numbers, but it's your lucky day. I happen to be in between projects at the moment.”

Several things sounded more appealing right now than helping Harold. If she was being honest with herself she could use the distraction. Even if it was only for a few hours. She walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. The sun peered out past the building tops through the clear blue sky. "Is the big lug taking a personal day?"

"Mr. Reese is attending to another matter. I was hoping you would be able to assist Ms. Silva?”

"Sure, Harold. Seems like you've been in need of my assistance quite a bit lately. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you wanted to keep a close eye on me?"

There was nothing but silence on the other end of the line. She let out a long sigh. “All right, I'm on my way.”

*** 

The abandoned subway remained a welcoming sight, even with the dim lights and cold concrete walls. Root arrived flushed after her brisk walk through the less occupied streets of New York. Not the most direct route, but definitely the safest. She paused to catch her breath and clean her wire-rimmed glasses. Maintaining a cover identity was still necessary.

Harold sat behind his computer when Root entered the subway. He leaned close to the monitors, scanning the screens with determination. Silva stood near him glaring at a photograph that Root presumed was their new number. She approached with interest.

Harold should know about her chat with Jeremy Lambert, but she thought it best to heed the operatives warning. At least until she had more information to share. It would be foolish to trust Samaritan, but what choice did she have?

The night before, as she lay awake, finding it impossible to sleep, she contemplated all the possible scenarios Samaritan planned, and none of them had reassuring outcomes. Even if they intended to tell her the one bit of information she so desperately wanted to hear— _Shaw is safe. Shaw is alive_ —they wouldn’t hand her over. Not without something in return. She paused for a moment, smoothed out her shirt and put on the brightest smile she could manage. 

"So who do we have today? A high-level executive? Perhaps a senator?” Root tried her best to keep her voice light and playful despite her current mood and lack of sleep. 

"A waitress, actually!" Harold exclaimed. "Her name is Emily Mitchell. I looked into Ms. Mitchell's background, and I'm almost certain she is our victim. As for the perpetrator, there are several suspects. She works at a rather unsavory pub in Downtown Brooklyn." He paused with an unpleasant frown. "This kind of place attracts the wrong sort of crowd."

Root huffed out a laugh, and tried to imagine Harold working this case on-site, sitting in a dingy dive bar with a look of disgust.

“Ms. Groves, this is hardly an amusing situation. Ms. Mitchell's life is in danger. The perpetrator might be one of her former suitors," Harold continued. "Most of which have conviction records." 

At some point during this briefing, Silva had slipped away and returned with two cups of coffee. She handed one over to Root with a smile. Root took a sip letting the warm liquid work its magic. It was still early, she needed sleep and the sound of Harold's voice was starting to irritate her. She was going to need caffeine to make it through this day. 

Root accepted the cup with a slight nod. She didn't mind working with Dani Silva, the internal affairs officer. Silva usually partnered with Reese when she helped work the numbers, but she saved Root from some close calls on more than one occasion.

Reese brought her in to offer some assistance. They were short handed and taking out an ad for this sort of job wasn't an option. He had a soft spot for Silva. She was tough, determined and no stranger to working undercover, much like another detective Reese worked with in the past.

Silva was in the dark when it came to the Machine and the source of the numbers. She welcomed the chance to save lives and prevent crimes, but Root thought she knew more than she let on. She was a smart girl, and she had probably worked a few theories out on her own.

Bear sauntered over, shaking Root from her thoughts and nudging his nose into the side of her leg. She smiled and knelt down beside the cheerful dog. "Hey, tough guy," she whispered while scratching the back of his ears. It seemed irrational, but she formed a special bond with the canine in Shaw's absence. Being around Bear reminded her of Shaw. The dog seemed to be the only one that didn't annoy Shaw, which always amused her. Then again, Shaw wasn’t much of a people person. 

At around ten o'clock in the morning, they finished sipping their coffee and gathering information from Harold. They planned to shadow Emily around the city until her evening shift at the bar began.

Root grabbed her cell phone and said goodbye to Bear with a reassuring pat on the head. She walked up to Harold, placing a hand in front of his face, palm side up. "Car keys, please," she said, making a point to draw out the please and bat her lashes a few times for emphasis. 

Harold shifted his posture and hesitated for a moment. "Maybe it's best if Ms. Silva takes the lead on this one. The last car I lent you ended up in the East River." The pitch in Harold's voice rose as he once again pictured the sight of his car bobbing in the water. 

"Harry, I told you that was not my fault. In my defense, that seemed like the best option given the circumstances." She already explained herself once before and refused to plead her case again. Harold knew by now that things didn't always work out as planned. Sometimes, she had to improvise. Improvising seemed to be more common these days without the Machine’s help. 

Harold paused before walking over and retrieving a set of keys. Root studied the keys for a moment with a smug smile. "A Mercedes. I suppose this will do. Shall we?" She glanced over at Silva, who waited at the door. Root passed her the keys on their way out and caught a glimpse of Harold with a look of great relief on his face.

*** 

Root entered the pub while Silva circled in search of parking. Something that seemed scarce in this area. The inside was as dingy as she envisioned from Harold's earlier description. She imaged Shaw in a place like this, drinking beer and unwinding after firing off a few rounds into some poor perp. Ripped vinyl barstools filled the extremely narrow, poorly lit bar. A few two-seater tables lined the opposite wall. Somehow, they had even managed to cram a pool table at the back. It was an impressive accomplishment, considering the size of the space. Root was surprised they served food here, but even more surprised to see quite a few customers eating. 

"I'll have a dirty martini." She grinned at the bartender, taking a seat on one of the less tattered barstools. They spent the afternoon trailing Emily around the city as she ran routine errands that made Root regret accepting this mission. 

"I've got eyes on our girl, Harry, and she seems less than thrilled to be at work today." Emily Mitchell had changed into a tight, white short-sleeve top, no doubt at the manager's request. Her long brown hair was pulled off her forehead with a wide, black elastic hairband, and she appeared agitated as she quickly scribbled down orders from a nearby table. 

Silva walked in just as Root's drink arrived and took a seat next to her. We almost had that guy." She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Look, I didn't know your friend but—"

"So much for small talk," Root interrupted.

"Yeah, I guess I was never any good at that." Silva gripped her beer and stared down into the frosty glass. 

"You and John have a lot in common. If you don't mind, I think I'll pass on revisiting yesterday's events." Root forced a smile. She had no interest in discussing Shaw or their latest failed attempt to gather information.

"Okay, you don't want to talk. Fine, but you should pace yourself," Silva said in a low voice, glancing over as Root took one long sip after another from her glass.

Root ignored Silvia's advice and kept her gaze fixed on the front door. A clean-cut man in an expensive suit entered, looking more than a little out of place, and headed in Emily’s direction. He whispered something in Emily’s ear and headed towards the washroom at the back of the bar. A look of panic flashed in Emily’s eyes. She quickly dropped off an order of something deep fried to one of her tables before trailing after the man.

A few minutes had passed before Silva slid off her barstool. "That beer went right through me. I'll be right back.” Root rolled her eyes and watched Silva head towards the washroom. She approached the hallway when the man in the suit came barging out, nearly knocking her down. "Hey, watch it!" Silva scolded, but the man didn't bother apologizing or turning around. 

"Harry, looks like this guy is up to no good," said Root. "I'm going to follow him. See where he's heading. Might be time for a second drink, Silva. Maybe get some dinner." Root tilted her head and motioned towards the seated section where Emily worked. "You should probably take your drink over there. Did you know they recreate the last meals of notorious death row inmates? Saw that on a sign by the door," she added with a smirk. “As much as I would love to join you, looks like I already have a date for the night." Her eyes trailed Mr. tall-dark-and-angry as he exited through the front door. 

Silva scowled as Root disappeared out of sight. “Finch, I don't know why Root gets to go after that guy, and I'm stuck drinking in this hole."

“Ms. Silva, you know I have no control over Ms. Groves' actions. In fact, I insisted she wait for Mr. Reese before heading out. Please keep a watchful eye on Ms. Mitchell. If she is our victim, she will need your help far more than Ms. Groves." 

"Fine." Silva flagged down the bartender to order another beer. Emily jotted down an order from a table of three burly bikers. She appeared to be preoccupied as she ignored their obscene comments. Silva glanced down at her watch and let out a long sigh. It was only eight o'clock. This was going to be a very long night.  

*** 

Root followed the slender man to a warehouse less than forty minutes away from the pub. He stopped to buy a pack of cigarettes from the convenience store around the corner, allowing her enough time to hijack a car and follow him to his destination. 

The sky was already dark; the days grew shorter as winter crept closer. Root slowed her car to a stop and sat tapping on the steering wheel. She cut the headlights some time ago. This place was off the beaten path, silent and vacant. The only sign of city life was a faint glow of lights, flickering off in the distance. An uneasiness crept in leaving her heart thumping. The manufacturing building looked like it was ready to crumble into a pile of rubble in front of her. Every crack and imperfection was somehow etched darker into the concrete than the already ink black sky.

Root spotted at least three vehicles in the distance and hoped she had parked far enough away. She recalled the last time she sat parked in front of a warehouse, much like this one, with Shaw in the driver's seat.

Root had been tracking a laptop, and Shaw insisted on tagging along to make sure Root didn’t screw things up. Shaw acted like she didn’t care— like she was only here for the mission—but Root sensed the concern buried beneath her stoic demeanor. "Finch doesn't pay me enough for this sort of thing," Shaw grumbled.

Every word Root spoke sent a flash of irritation across Shaw’s face. Despite Shaw’s poor conversation skills, Root remembered how at ease she felt that night. She spent most of her time disguised beneath countless cover identities. With Shaw, she never had to pretend to be anyone other than herself.

Her chest tightened as the memory faded, and she glanced over at the empty passenger seat. The cold air suddenly crept in, and she shivered. She was alone now, but there was no time to dwell on this realization. She was here to help Emily.

Root stepped out and crept through the broken chain link fence towards a narrow corridor, passing the graffiti-stained concrete buildings. Three other vehicles were parked near the suspect’s black sedan. Voices clamored nearby, and she quickly took cover. She peered around the corner and caught a glimpse of two men as they disappeared inside the building. 

At least six men stood in a circle and argued with her suspect. The distance made it impossible to overhear their conversation so she searched for a safe spot to move closer. Stacked boxes at least eight foot high lined a dark corner further into the building. Once they seemed distracted by their argument, she crept through the doors and crouched out of sight.

It was no surprise that the men discussed Emily Mitchell and what a liability she had become. The man she had trailed to the warehouse was trying his best to defend her, without much success. “Look, she won’t say anything," Root's suspect pleaded. 

“Your girlfriend said she wanted out. There's only one way out." They glared at each other for a moment like enraged animals displaying their dominance, willing the other to back down. Root had the sudden urge to shoot them both—in the kneecaps of course—and be done with this day. Instead, she remained silent and waited for their staring match to end. 

Two of the men received instructions to resolve the situation. They headed back to the entrance while the others walked further into the warehouse, toward a dim light. "Silva, you there? I think our girl is about to have some unwelcome visitors. You should probably get her out of there. Two armed men are on their way to the pub, and they aren't coming for the dinner special." 

"I'm on it," Silva replied through Root's earpiece. 

Root sighed. At least something was going as planned. _Well, almost._ A stern voice called from behind, catching her off guard. She missed the days of a software omniscience.

"And what do you think you're doing, lady?" 

His sudden appearance startled her, but Root was quick to gather her composure. She glanced up at the raspy-voiced, heavyset man. He wheezed when he spoke. Root guessed his age at sixty-five. Definitely too old for this line of work. Another man stood blocking her exit. She took a deep breath. It was too late to avoid a shootout now. She had been looking forward to a simple day of surveillance. She did love surveillance. This situation could only go one way, and she appreciated having the upper hand. 

She stood up flashing a bashful smile like she had just been caught shoplifting and not spying on a dangerous drug cartel. “I was told there was a warehouse sale out here?" She shrugged her shoulders and scrunched her face in confusion. "Wrong warehouse, I guess? Wait a minute, I wrote down the address." She searched her front and back pockets until her fingers grazed the top of the two guns tucked into her waistband.

Before the man even registered what was happening, Root managed to fire off two shots, sending him to the ground. Bullets crashed around her as she sprinted further into the building. Root wasn't expecting such an eventful night, but she was beginning to appreciate the uncertainty that came along with working the numbers. Although, she could still think of better ways to spend her night than getting shot at by a bunch of thugs. She reminded herself to say no the next time Harold asked for her help. 


	3. Chapter 3

They raced towards her. At least four men but she wasn't sure. In the dimness of the warehouse, only the movement of dark shadows illuminated by flashes of gunfire was visible. She rushed into a small office at the end of the hall and toppled a nearby filing cabinet in front of the door. The blockade wouldn't hold for long. Bullets crashed into cement sending a shower of dust raining down. Root slid a few inches along the wall, avoiding the shards of glass on the ground. They shot out the windows first. Once she was out of range from the oncoming gunfire, she checked her clip. Three bullets left and one spare magazine. Soon she would run out of ammunition, and there seemed to be no escape. This situation could be resolved in an instant if _She_ were talking.

"A little help please," she requested.

_Silence._

She drew a heavy breath and reached out communication to the only other voice that could guide her out alive. "Harold. I'm in a bit of a bind. Any chance you could help a girl out?"

"Ms. Groves, I wondered when I might hear from you."

"We can catch up later Harry. I need you to locate an exit. It seems I underestimated the number of henchmen in tacky suits, and your Machine is still giving me the silent treatment."

"Give me a minute. I'm bringing up the building's floor plans. I'll contact Mr. Reese and see if he's in the area. Ms. Groves are you still there? I wish you listened to me and waited a little longer."

Root tilted her head to the side as a familiar voice relayed the exact location of the gunmen. "Things are looking up Harry. Seems I won't be in need of your assistance."

"Do be careful Ms. Groves. I can still relay your location to Mr. Reese?"

"Not necessary, but you may want to send a message to Lionel. Ask him if he's interested in locating 292 kilos of marijuana and 14.1 kilos of heroin. You can tell him it's practically gift wrapped."

She grabbed the extra magazine and shoved it firmly into her gun. "Ready when you are." The Machine returned just in time. This is how their relationship worked now.

_Two o'clock, Ten o'clock. Turn right. Keep straight, and then left._

Root maneuvered through the warehouse with ease firing shots at the Machine's command. It surprised her how suddenly she felt like her old self. She once let the Machine guide her, taking orders without hesitation. She was the analog interface that never questioned her God. Now that Samaritan had eyes and ears everywhere, She rarely let out a whisper of information.

Root knew She guarded the team by keeping her contact brief, although despite this fact it still hurt. She depended on this voice and took comfort in her commands. The Machine provided her with a sense of purpose, something she searched for most of her life. Losing her connection to the Machine terrified her.

She raced down the stairwell without interference. Two shooters waited for her returning fire. Shots hit the metal railing sending sparks in her direction missing her by inches. She aimed low, shooting into the darkness below and heard a loud groan. One down...one to go.

At the bottom of the landing, she pushed the door open and froze in place. Her eyes betrayed her. _It's not her. It can't be her._ She shut them trying to erase the blonde that burned her vision like a camera flash leaving a lingering image. 

She faltered, giving the woman enough time to fire a shot. The bullet clipped Root's shoulder and sent her stumbling back a few steps. Root's eyes grew wide as the contact sent a sharp jolt of pain down her body. She raised her gun and discharged a single shot straight into the woman's chest.

The body lay motionless on the ground. Blonde head tilted slightly to the side and vacant eyes burning straight into Root. Bright red slowly painted the ground. She should feel sympathy or remorse...most people would. Most people would struggle to overcome this haunting image on display. She had witnessed enough death, some by her hand, to remain unfazed. 

The man she shot in the kneecaps moaned nearby shaking Root from her trance. The smell of blood filled the landing where she stood, sickly sweet and metallic mixed with gunpowder. Suddenly all the air seemed to escape the room and her lungs.

Root rushed down the final corridor towards the exit firing off a few more rounds without much thought. The cold air sent a shudder across her sweaty skin as she charged through the alley and threw her back against the wall. Her head hit the brick exterior sending a sharp pain through her skull. The pain reminded her she was still alive.

She tried to suppress the rising anger at the realization that the blonde she hoped to kill was still out there somewhere. Martine had been the dark shadow she chased for months. Tonight she shot someone else. Somebody who stood in her way. Harold had been right to worry about her. She slipped further away and wasn't sure if anyone could pull her back this time. She took a few minutes to steady her breathing, trying to gain control, but the knot clutching her chest remained.

A pay phone rang in the distance piercing the silence, and leaving Root's body tense. She stood in place for a moment listening to the loud ringing until something inside her sparked and screamed at her to move.  _Answer the phone._ _Answer the phone._ She darted across the alley and grasped the receiver. With caution, she held it to her ear and waited.

"Root." A familiar voice spoke her name.

The sound sent a shiver through her body throwing all her senses into overload. She gripped the receiver tight while she searched for words.

"Sameen?" she asked cautiously, hesitant to believe this wasn't some trap Samaritan devised. She didn't want to lean into false hope and her vision blurred as the tears crept in.

"Root you are going to get yourself killed. You need to be careful."

Root struggled to speak, and her voice came across in a hushed whisper. "Sameen, where are you?" She wondered if she sounded as fragile and unsteady as she felt at this moment.

"You have to stop looking for me."

"You know I'll never stop," Root answered without hesitation. If there were one thing in the world she was sure of, it was this statement. If this really was Shaw, then she needed her to know, she wasn't giving up—not now, not ever.

"Sameen."

"Sameen, wait."

The call ended. The sound of Shaw's voice echoed through her head. Her heart pounded like someone was banging on the inside of her chest demanding to escape. Her mind raced in a dozen different directions, yet she couldn't move. Root stood frozen on the sidewalk, receiver still in hand while the sounds of New York City buzzed around her.

***

The city lights illuminated the night with a comforting glow. Root returned Harold's car undamaged, and she was sure he would be surprised to see it in the morning. The sound of heels clicking across concrete echoed with each step she took. She walked with no particular destination in mind but needed to do something. _Anything_. So many questions raced through her mind. She wanted to scream. There was no point heading back to her apartment. Exhaustion fought its way through her body, but she had to keep moving.

A breeze swept by filling the air with the sweet scent of blossoms. Dim apartment lights flooded out into the darkness. It was already eleven thirty at night, and she sighed glancing down at her bright phone screen. Aside from the stars in the sky, she seemed to be the only one out in this neighborhood at this hour. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket and let the silence sink in. A moment of peace in this city was rare and for one brief second, she didn't feel like the weight of the world pressed heavy on her shoulders.

 _You have to stop looking for me._ The words hummed through Root's head.

The first few months after Shaw disappeared Root traveled in search of answers. She never felt as helpless as she did at this moment. Not since that day at the stock exchange. She still continued her search; it was constantly in the back of her mind. Harold and Reese followed any solid leads she brought them, but Root was thorough. She followed all leads, even the most delicate ones. Now after all these months, there was a phone call.

_Root you are going to get yourself killed. You need to be careful._

Confirmation that what she believed all this time is true. _Shaw is alive._ Root was more determined than ever to find her, or die trying. At the rate she was going, death seemed like a more realistic outcome. She halted in front of a security camera on the quiet side street. The small red light flickered when she peered up into the lens.

"Please. You know where Shaw is. I can't..." She choked back the tears, but she couldn't hide the pain from her voice. "I can't go on like this. Tell me where to find her," she pleaded.

She paused for a moment, taking a step back into the shadows as a young couple made their way down the sidewalk, arms linked, laughing and grinning at one another. Root watched as they turned the corner at the far end of the street and disappeared from view. 

She pulled out her gun and held it by her side. She was done feeling helpless. Harold's Machine—his creation was meant to save lives and tonight it would help her rescue Sameen.

"If you don't tell me where Shaw is, I'm going to shoot the next person that walks across this street. A crazed look flashed in her eyes. Tonight wasn't the first time she asked for the Machine's help. Each time she was met with silence. She took a deep breath to steady her hand which now trembled around the solid metal weapon she realized she was gripping tighter than necessary.

"Every life matters, right? Are you willing to sacrifice innocent people?" She wasn't sure if she would go through with her threat but at this moment she was desperate. Tonight was not the night to test her limits.

Maybe The Machine sensed Root's desperation or it was possible someone's number came up, and the Machine identified her as an apparent threat. This time, when Root asked for support, she received an answer. Her body tensed at the sound flooding her ear.

_Left on 34th Avenue._

The Machine replied. She helped Root earlier, but not like this. This was her chance to bring Shaw back. To make things right. Root braced herself against a light post, her legs no longer willing to support her body. She was aware of the wetness streaming down her face and half smiled. The machine cared about people. She cared too much. In the end, this might be her downfall.

Root pulled the taser from her pocket. The Machine guided her to the first suitable person. She walked up behind an older man wearing a long trench coat and hat. He looked a little like Harold without the limp. With her taser pressed firm against his back she waited until his convulsing body hit the ground. She knelt down beside him looking into his eyes sympathetically. "I'm sorry about this." She removed a set of keys from his pocket. "You really should be more careful walking alone at this time of night," she added before promptly leaving. He might wake up with a bruise tomorrow from the fall, but he would be okay.

Root couldn't help but grin at the black BMW in front of her. The car appeared identical to the one she drove into the river less than a month ago. Was this the Machine's idea of a joke? She climbed inside, inserting the key in the ignition. "Okay, what's next?" Exhilaration pulsed through her body as she followed the Machine's instructions one step at a time, not knowing what lies ahead, but hoping it would lead her to Sameen.


	4. Chapter 4

Root drove along the highway in silence, listening to the steady hum of tires on the open road. The Machine quieted for now, but Root hoped She would inform her when to exit. The chatter of the Machine would have been a welcome distraction. She tried to relax and allow the sound of Sameen's voice to drift over her thoughts. Their brief communication today had been real, unlike the illusions her subconscious concocted. She couldn't control her dreams; they always seemed so vivid, only to leave her disappointed the moment she woke. This phone call wasn't a dream. The sharp, confident voice delivered through the phone receiver sounded so close, but Shaw could be miles away.

She took the exit marked Millbrook, New York, and found herself heading down a long dirt road with a low fence lining both sides. As instructed, she turned off her headlights and continued in complete darkness before cutting the engine. Blackness pulled at her vision, but she thought she could make out the faint shadows of horses in the distance. Root sat in the car for a moment. Her hands grasped the steering wheel. She stared out the windshield hoping this wouldn't turn out to be another dead end.

"Ms. Groves, where are you?" Harold's concerned voice came through her earpiece.

"Come on, Harry, there's no use pretending you haven't been tracking my cell. I suppose I should also assume backup is on the way?"

"Yes, but it may be a while before Mr. Reese arrives. I may know where you are, but it's the why that concerns me. I'm worried you are about to do something reckless."

The words caused Root to let out an exasperated sigh. Everything she did these days could be considered irresponsible. Recklessness was the least of her worries and certainly none of his concern.

"We already lost..." He paused before finishing his sentence. With caution, he began again. "We must be careful. All of our lives are important, Ms. Groves."

"Shaw is alive, Harold." Root hoped her voice didn't sound as frail as she felt.

Harold remained silent for a moment. "Ms. Groves, are you sure it was—?"

"I'm sure," she replied, interrupting him before she could hear the doubt in his voice. "The Machine is also sure. Voice recognition is a match."

"Well, did the Machine say where she is? Are you at her location?"

"I don't know," Root responded. The Machine led her here, and she followed. Like old times, she thought. Except unlike their previous relationship, she now found herself questioning the Machine's motives. _Why is she helping me find Sameen now? After months of silence?_ Tonight wasn't the first time she pleaded with the Machine or threatened the lives of others to obtain information, and she wondered what had changed. "I can only assume there's a connection between this place and Shaw."

"Please don't do anything hasty without assistance."

"I have assistance, Harold. The Machine will tell me what to do next." _But would She?_ Root couldn't be sure.

Harold must have sensed the hesitation she struggled to keep from her voice. "And what if the Machine ends contact?"

Sometimes she wondered if he could read her mind. When did she become so transparent? Or had they grown so close he knew her better than she thought?

"The Machine hasn't been reliable, you said so yourself. Even when it is present, it only provides you with fragments of information. You still haven't seen the whole picture. You found out Ms. Shaw was alive only moments ago. Do you want to risk ending your life before you have the chance to save her?"

"What if she's here, Harold? What if I can bring her back? I'm not going to sit here and wait for backup. We are wasting time."

"Root, please be careful." Harold knew there was no use arguing any further. 

"Thanks, Harold." She climbed out of the car with forced confidence and began walking down the long dirt road. If she didn't get moving now, she worried the adrenaline pumping through her veins would dissipate. Without the bright city lights and loud noises, the night seemed tranquil. The temperature dropped, and Root shivered, zipping up her jacket.

The only audible sound was her footsteps crunching along the sandy pathway. Root continued along the walkway for a half mile before arriving in front of a security gate, as expected. The Machine relayed the four-digit code as she tapped the keypad. It let out a long beep, and she pushed open the gate wide enough to slip inside.

***

She kept close to the fence until she arrived in front of a large single-story guesthouse. The Machine let her know when to approach so she could avoid the patrolling guards. She held her weapon out in preparation. She didn't expect this to be simple. An uneasy feeling began to rise; it might be the uncertainty of not knowing what she would find inside, but she couldn't shake it. She needed to keep her head clear this time. The stakes were high tonight.

Windows spanned from floor to ceiling, and she peered into the dark space. She had no key to unlock the door, but there was more than one way to skin a cat. Using the grip of her gun, she broke the glass, clearing away the remaining sharp edges with her jacket before climbing inside.

The pain in her shoulder from her gunshot wound returned, and she tried to push it to the back of her mind. Shaw would laugh at her minor injury and tell her to suck it up. The thought brought a small smile to her face as she continued to maneuver through the kitchen. She came to a door and raised her shaking hand to turn the knob, half expecting a firing squad of Samaritan operatives to greet her on the other side.

The large vacant room looked out of place in the English-style house. Concrete walls and unfinished ceilings made it appear cold and uninviting. Monitors covered a large section of the wall displaying live surveillance footage. She stood in front of the glowing screens as they flickered across her face. This wasn't security monitoring the farmhouse. Instead, she recognized various locations around the city. One screen, in particular, caught her eye. She noticed the corner where she answered a pay phone call.

 _Shaw was here._ She ran her hand across the phone on the desk and wondered if Sameen used it to call her earlier. Someone watched her from this room, and maybe the rest of the team. Greer must be connected, but what did he want with Shaw? Her chest tightened as she contemplated the question. If Shaw called from this location, there was a possibility she was close. Root began rifling through the folders and boxes covering the desk. She searched with desperation for any information that would provide answers.

_Three o'clock._

Root dropped the folders and froze in place. Her heart pounded as she turned her attention towards the direction the Machine indicated. A large steel door faced her three o'clock. She swallowed hard. The heavy door took some effort to open, but she wasted no time. She paused for a moment staring down the dark staircase that led to an underground passage. The Machine informed her that she would be entering blind.

There were no cameras down here—no way to predict what she would encounter once she reached the bottom. This news didn't surprise her. She almost expected it. She could think of only one reason a place like this would be hidden away with patrolling guards. This was Samaritan's base. Possibly one of many, but hopefully the one that would bring her closer to Sameen. The ominous silence sent a chill through her body, but Root forced her legs to move as she descended the stairs. Once she reached the bottom, the area came into focus. Old brick exterior surrounded her on all sides. The faint sound of water dripped and gathered into a puddle nearby. With caution, she stepped over the pooling water and continued down the long tunnel.

The Machine couldn't help her now. No one could. She was alone and unprepared. The unprepared part was not a familiar feeling. She managed to make her way down a little further before something made her slow and come to a complete stop. A weightless sensation swept over her body, and she held her breath. She didn't need the Machine to warn her that someone stood behind her. She could sense their presence. What she found when she turned around—who she saw—nothing prepared her for this moment.

"Sameen?"

The words struggled to escape Root's mouth. Her eyes widened as she gazed over in surprise. _Is this real? Is Sameen Shaw standing a few feet away?_ Still dazed, she made an effort to take in the woman's appearance through the dim lighting. Other than the bruises and scrapes lining her face Shaw appeared unharmed. She let out a small sigh of relief, but the fear didn't leave.

Root attempted to take a step forward, but Shaw moved faster. In one quick motion, she grabbed Root by the arm and pulled her into one of the dark rooms off the walkway, slamming her body against the cold hard brick. Root gasped.

"What are you doing here?" Shaw’s voice remained quiet and steady as she glared up at Root.

"The...The Machine. I was looking for you."

Anger flashed across Shaw's face. She certainly didn't seem happy to see Root, but the grip around her wrist remained gentle. Those dark brown eyes bore into her, making it impossible to breathe.

"I told you to stop. You need to get out of here now," Shaw scolded.

"I'm not leaving without you." After months of searching, Shaw stood right here in front of her. This was not another dream. Shaw was real.

"You don't understand." Shaw shook her head, looking down and breaking their gaze. "If they see me with you, I'll be forced to take you down and I really don't want to shoot you."

Root narrowed her eyes as she searched Shaw's expression. "Sameen, what the hell is going on? We need to get out of this place now. If you even think I'm leaving without you—"

With force, Shaw pressed her against the wall bringing their proximity closer. "This isn't about you and me right now. It's about something bigger, and you need to trust me. Can you trust me?"

Footsteps grew louder in the distance. Root pleaded, but Shaw stood her ground. That stoic expression remained firm across her face. Root knew there was no use trying to convince Sameen Shaw of anything once she made up her mind.

"Shoot me," Root whispered. _Shaw wanted to stay here. She claimed to have a plan_ , but Root wasn't about to let her die down here. If Root escaped unharmed, Samaritan's operatives wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet into Shaw's head the minute Root left the grounds. Time was running out. She already donned a bandage across her shoulder where she rushed to patch her previous wound.

Shaw continued to stare, but there was something less harsh in her appearance. Something the untrained eye would never notice. Root recognized the slight changes in her expression all too well. They both knew this was their only option.

With her free arm, Root reached down and placed a hand over Shaw's gun. Their fingers brushed together sending Root's heart racing in her chest once again. "You know where to aim, so make it look good."

"Root I can't..."

"If you don't shoot me, I'm going to stay down here, and we will both get killed. Is this part of your plan?" _This can't be happening._ After months of running scenarios, Root never envisioned this is how her search would end. Shaw's stubbornness infuriated and terrified her.

They stepped into the hallway. At least seven operatives approached in the distance. What happened next required witnesses, so they waited a moment until the agents appeared within view. It happened so fast. The bullet ripped through Root's side sending her stumbling back. She drew a thin labored breath as pain seized her body for the second time today. If she questioned whether this was real or a dream, the answer suddenly became clear. Tonight was not the first time Sameen Shaw fired a bullet into Root, but things between them were different back then. This injury hurt like hell.

Gripping her side, Root headed down the hall and around the nearest corner with Shaw in pursuit. Once out of sight from the operatives, they had a few seconds to spare. Shaw glanced at the blood stain from the injury she had inflicted. "Get out of here, and get the wound stitched up. You'll be fine." Shaw reached into Root's jacket pocket, but Root was too disoriented to make sense of anything that happened next. Shaw pushed her towards another exit, far from the one she entered and away from the sound of oncoming agents.

Shaw fired a couple more shots in Root's direction as she headed up the staircase, but it was all for show, none came close to making contact. Root didn't turn to look back when she reached the top. She couldn't. Too many horrible thoughts raced through her mind, and she knew if she looked into Shaw's eyes one last time, she would run back down those stairs and get them both killed. Root stood at the top, frozen and ignoring the sound of oncoming bullets. She wanted to go back. _She needed to go back._

A hand reached out, shaking her from the internal struggle battling its way through her mind. Reese stood beside her. He limped with a wound to the leg. The sound of gunfire grew louder and came from all directions. Reese pulled her aside as a bullet went flying by, barely missing contact. He returned fire into the stairway. "No!" She pulled at his arm, her eyes wild and frantic. She glanced back down into the darkness below. "Let's just get out of here."

Reese led them to his car, and Root settled in the back seat, keeping a firm grip over her injury. Gunshots ricocheted off the vehicle as they drove away.

"You want to tell me what happened down there?" Reese glanced over his shoulder.

"I will fill you in when we return. We are going to need all hands on deck for this one."

They fell into silence on the long drive back to the city. Root gazed out the window and watched the trees blur as they sped by. She wanted John to stop the car, to turn around and go back. Each length of road and each mile that passed only made the feeling worse. Her stomach churned. She took a deep breath fighting back the queasiness that overcame her.

Not that long ago she injected Shaw with a tranquilizer to keep her safe. Her cover had been blown, and it was the only way. She should have locked her away and never let her out of sight. What happened to Shaw at the stock exchange was her fault. She carried this crushing weight with her at all times now. A part of Root also knew that Shaw would always go running towards danger and would only hate her for standing in the way. John and Harold would tell her this to ease her regret, but their words offered little comfort.

Root reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Her fingers grazed the edges of a small object. She held out a folded paper and studied it, turning it over with caution. She remembered that moment when Shaw reached into her jacket. Aside from the bullet lodged in her side, this was the only memento she had from her encounter with Shaw. She unfolded the note and stared down at the precise uppercase handwriting, consisting of only two lines:

 _41.159725, -73.869269_  
_21:00 10/8_

She wondered how long Shaw carried this note around, waiting for someone to come. Waiting for her to come. Root held the note tight in her hand. The sudden urge to empty the contents of her stomach onto the side of the road had returned. Whatever Shaw planned, Root knew she couldn't do it alone. She would need their help, all of them working together, to bring this war to an end.


	5. Chapter 5

**Five Months Ago**

Root stood under the snow, which fell steady now, painting the sky white. The cold air stung, sending a shiver through her body. She tugged the scarf around her neck a little tighter. Today's mission left her so preoccupied that she neglected to dress for the cold weather. She kept her distance from the inviting bar ahead. It would be much more pleasant to go inside, have a drink and stay warm, but she spotted the surveillance cameras above the door when she arrived.

She didn't need to rely on the Machine for everything. They hadn't been on the best terms lately. The Machine remained quiet. She voiced her opinion early on. Trying to warn Root—attempting to convince her to end the search for Shaw. That's when Root stopped listening. 

As she stood fixated on the illuminated bar ahead, memories and thoughts drifted across her consciousness like smoke: her mother, on a hot day in Texas, passed out on the couch while grasping an empty bottle of gin; Shaw, sitting in a diner, stuffing her face with pancakes and trying to talk through a mouthful of food; Harold and John, working the numbers and obediently following the Machine's orders. 

Root struggled to comprehend how they could go back to their ordinary routine as if nothing changed. Sameen was more than another irrelevant number they failed to save in time. The thought stung her eyes, and she fought back familiar and unwelcome tears. Shaw risked her life to save them all. _Had they so quickly forgotten?_ They said their goodbyes and closed the chapter, but Root knew she was still out there. And tonight she hoped for answers. 

A man walked out of the quiet bar and into the back parking lot. It was tough to see anything but the hazy outline of a figure through the flurry of snow, but she watched the bar close enough to know this was her guy. 

The man stumbled slightly, shifting to locate his keys. He appeared to be drunk. Luckily, Root would prevent him from getting behind the wheel. Whatever buzz he had would soon disappear. She approached from behind, grabbing the keys he held loose in his hand. He was too inebriated to react and only managed to mumble a “huh?" 

Her voice was rigid like the cold air that surrounded them. "Get in the car.” The man looked dumbfounded, even with the barrel of a silencer firmly pressed into his side. Root wasn't one for repeating herself and her patience wore thin these days. She aimed her gun down and pulled the trigger sending a single shot through his foot. He fell to the ground groaning in pain. 

"Get up."

Tears streaked down his face, and he began to mumble something incoherent. Root tugged at his arm until he stood up and pulled him across the empty parking lot towards his vehicle. "I asked nicely," she muttered.

They slid into his car. It wasn't as warm as she hoped, but her adrenaline and rising anger managed to take the chill off. She pointed the gun at his head. His lips trembled and his face had turned ashen white as he stared down the barrel of her weapon. Root felt nothing for the man sitting across from her. He was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. She only needed the information in his head. Once she had this information, he would be disposable. 

“I'm here for answers. I'm going to ask you a few simple questions. If you lie, and I’ll know if you’re lying, this next bullet goes in your head. Now are you ready for round one?” 

*** 

**Present Day**

When Root opened her eyes, she recognized the familiar surroundings. She was in one of the bedrooms in Harold’s safe house. She must have lost consciousness on the car ride back to the city. Someone removed her jacket and tended to her wounds. She recognized the hushed voices coming from the other side of the door. Harold and Silva were talking. 

Root tried to sit up, but the pain overwhelmed her, and she laid back down defeated. She wondered how long she had slept—how many hours had passed. She reached down placing a hand over the bandage and suddenly the events that caused the injury came rushing back. 

 _Shaw is alive._  

She reminded herself repeating this phrase in an attempt to push all other thoughts aside. If she recalled the details, she was sure she would be incapable of breathing. 

 _Shaw is alive, and I left her. I walked away and left her._  

Root put pressure on the bandage. She deserved to feel this pain. She deserved much worse than a gunshot to the side. The wound would heal, but she wasn’t sure she would ever forgive herself for leaving Sameen. 

Silva entered the room, and Root was glad for the interruption. "I hear you got yourself shot again? How are you holding up?" Silva smiled sympathetically. 

"I'm okay really," Root replied sending a glance in Harold’s direction as he stepped into the room. He remained near the doorway refusing to make eye contact. He knew she was lying. Of course, she was lying. She wasn't okay. Nothing about this situation was all right, but she made an effort to keep her composure. Silva proved to be trustworthy, but this wasn't her battle, and Root had no interest in dragging her any deeper into their war against Samaritan. 

"So Silva, how was your dinner date?” 

"Emily is at her sisters. We managed to make it out of there just in time, but you missed one hell of a shootout at the pub." 

Root nodded absently as the words floated over her. She only had one thought on her mind, and no amount of distraction would change that. 

Silva glanced between Root and Harold looking slightly uncomfortable by the silence that now filled the room. “I’ll get you some water," she said and quickly disappeared leaving them alone. 

“Ms. Groves I think it's best if you take it easy today. Your pain medication will be wearing off soon. I’m afraid we are running low on supplies.” Harold looked sullen, and Root knew what he was thinking. There were far too many gunshot wounds that needed patching up these days. They were going through supplies almost as fast as they acquired them.  

“Shaw needs our help, and we can’t waste any time." Root lowered her voice, and Harold had to take a few steps closer to hear. "We need a plan. Your Machine hasn’t spoken to me since I walked into Samaritan’s base.” The Machine’s silence was another issue that troubled Root. She needed Her help right now. She needed all of them to step up and fight. They owed Sameen that much. 

Root searched the room until her eyes landed on the tattered leather jacket hanging over a nearby chair. "Harry, would you mind," she asked motioning towards her coat. He handed it over to her, and she examined the pockets as he watched carefully with a look of uncertainty. Finally, she paused and removed the small folded paper.

His intrigue grew when she reached out to hand him the note. “Time, location and date for what?” He asked even more perplexed now. 

“I don't know yet, but something doesn't feel right about this. What do we know about the location where Samaritan is holding Shaw?” Root searched Harold’s face for any sign of information, but he looked like a man with no good news to deliver. She sank a little deeper into her pillow. "Nothing? How is that possible?" Her frustration began to rise. She couldn’t wait any longer. Every minute that passed made her more anxious to get up and move. With her current injuries and lack of pain medication that was going to be difficult. 

“Bring me a laptop Harold. We've got a puzzle and only six days to solve it.” Root knew Samaritan was good at covering its tracks, but if she worked with Harold, the two of them were bound to figure this out. They had no other option.           

*** 

The small room offered little in the way of décor unless you counted the paper cups that lined a ledge above the bed. They held a daily dose of medication—pills of various sizes and colors. There were no windows, only four empty concrete walls. An industrial lamp illuminated the space with stark white light flooding out from behind a cage, casting dark shadows across the ground. Small tick marks had been etched into the wall noting the number of days Sameen Shaw remained in this hell hole.  

Shaw lived and slept in far worse conditions than this. She had grown accustomed to minimal accommodations during her years with the government. Material belongings were overrated, and she never understood why people became so sentimental over objects. Shaw made do with the bare necessities and never seemed to stay in one place long enough to require anything more. It wasn't so much this room that Shaw despised as much as the company. 

The door opened, and a blonde woman entered the confined space with arms folded and her head tilted slightly to the side. Martine Rousseau strode over with a small smile that never seemed to leave her face. It was a look that made Shaw’s head pound hot with anger. 

Shaw's gunshot wounds had almost healed since that day at the stock exchange, but she would never forget who put those bullets into her body. She had a great deal of patience. Someday she would get a chance to even the score.  

“No one trusts you. You know that right?” Martine ran a finger along the indentations scratched into the concrete wall. She wasn’t expecting Shaw to answer. Shaw stared back blankly. Like always. This little game they played had become all too familiar. 

“I told you I don’t care about her. I don’t care about any of them,” Shaw asserted. She hoped it was enough of a response to shut Martine up for now. 

“Tell me. How many years of training have you had with the ISA? How about before that as a Marine? You know how to kill, don't you? That’s what you do? You were one of the best from what I’ve heard. So how is it that one of the government's highly trained operatives manages to let someone escape with only a minor gunshot wound?” Martine crossed her arms again. “And here I thought we were making progress.” 

“If you’re here to shoot me just do it already. Anything is better than listening to you talk.” 

Martine crossed the room and headed towards the exit keeping her eyes fixed on Shaw as she passed. “We are moving tonight. Our location has been compromised thanks to your little girlfriend.” She shot Shaw one last smirk before disappearing out of sight. The heavy steel door slammed behind her echoing through the near-empty room. 

Shaw leaned back on her uncomfortable mattress, grateful for the silence. She should have left this place when she had the chance. What the fuck was she doing? Harold was the man with the plan when it came to Samaritan. She just followed orders. Well...sometimes she followed orders. 

Since she woke up in this place that hadn’t been the case, but time changes things. The torture sessions were long, and they had been persistent, but she refused to break. She knew they wanted answers, and they failed to make any progress. It was only a matter of time before they eliminated her. She had convinced herself this was the only way. It wasn’t much of a plan in the beginning. 

Earning their trust without appearing too cooperative was her best strategy. She observed and listened. She gathered intel that she could pass along to someone on the outside. Someone she trusted before it was too late. 

They were testing her. She wasn't an idiot. Samaritan was always watching, and when it wasn't, its lackeys were around to fill in. The regular torture sessions may have stopped, for now, but they would never trust her entirely. 

The truth was she knew why she had stayed in this underground nightmare. She needed to make this plan work, or at least try. She was the only one they had on the inside, and they didn’t have that many people on their side in the first place. She stayed here for her team. She stayed to protect them. She had been willing to die for them—for this mission. Now she had a second chance, and she was determined to make it count.


	6. Chapter 6

_Heat radiated off the asphalt. New York's scorching temperatures never bothered her, but today burned hotter than the inside of an oven. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. It was recess, and her entire second-grade class gathered around to watch in anticipation._

_The boy standing in front of her appeared to be twice her size, but she made no attempt to move away. Sameen Shaw stood her ground. She glared up, daring him to make the first move._

_He inched closer. He made a snide joke about how Sameen played basketball like a girl, so without a second thought, she threw the ball at his face. Even now, as she stood with this boy towering over her, her only regret was that she had missed._

_The eyes of a dozen other children were fixed on her, whispering and taunting from the sidelines. Sameen didn't like the attention. She kept to herself most of the time. Her mother would be furious when she found out about this fight. Keep your head down. Stay out of trouble. Be polite and respectful, her mother would often tell her. Sameen didn't go looking for trouble, but sometimes she found it._

_"You're not going to cry, are you? Girls always start crying." He began to laugh, but Sameen remained expressionless. An intensity swelled within her. It pulsed through her body and sent her ears ringing with fury. The boy's smile faded as he watched her with confusion. Other kids ran away when he threatened them, but Sameen wasn't like the other children._

_The punch came hard across the jaw, knocking her off her feet and onto the hot concrete. The ground burned beneath her body. Her jaw stung, and the metallic taste of blood pooled in the corner of her mouth. She was ready to get up and fight back. He may have thrown the first punch, but she would be the one to finish this fight. She willed herself to move, but her body failed to respond. The recess bell rang in the distance, and the other children sauntered away, one by one, until Sameen remained alone, staring up at the bright blue sky._

_A faint beep echoed around her, followed by hushed voices. The slow and steady beep intensified, lulling her into a catatonic state. She recognized the familiar sound of a cardiac monitor. Her eyelids became heavy, and she struggled to force them open. The bright blue sky disappeared, replaced by white fluorescent light._

_"Ms. Shaw? Ms. Shaw, can you hear me?"_

_She blinked and gradually focused on the figure leaning over her. Greer took a step back. He grinned and the corner of his eyes wrinkled. She turned her head, still groggy, but she wasted no time studying her surroundings. The small room was set up with medical equipment though it didn't resemble a typical hospital._

_"Good, you are awake. How is my favorite patient feeling today?" Greer spoke once again in his raspy voice, and she returned her focus back towards the silver-haired man._

_She continued to glare at him, making no attempt to reply. He could ask as many questions as he wanted, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of a response. She needed time to focus, regain her strength, and formulate a plan. The IV dispensing medication into her arm would make that difficult. Anything she said right now would only damage her position. She would stare at him all day if she had to, but Sameen Shaw refused to make the first move._

*** 

Shaw jolted upright in bed. She rarely dreamed, but a mixture of childhood memories and nightmares of Samaritan crept into her head. _This one had been so vivid_ , she thought. These dreams came almost every night now. Maybe this was her mind's way of escaping the confinement of the small room. 

Some dreams were pleasant like her mother and father dancing in the living room while she sat on the sofa reading a book, glancing up as they motioned her to join them. She would shake her head, huff loudly, and return her nose to the book.

Most, however, were hellish recollections of death and disappointment. With everything she had seen over the years, she wasn't surprised that nightmares outweighed her pleasant memories. 

The door to her room creaked and opened a crack. She sat up a little straighter, alert and ready to fight if necessary, when a voice called out. 

"You decent in there?" A familiar English accent greeted her from the other side. It was far too cheerful-sounding, and Shaw almost wished Martine had come for her instead of Jeremy Lambert. He could drop the gentleman act. Shaw had watched him kill in cold blood enough times to know he wasn't fooling anyone. 

"I'm afraid I have some bad news. Our usual weekly training sessions are going to be put on hold until we get situated at our new base of operations," he said smiling sympathetically. 

Shaw wanted to shove his face into the hard concrete wall, but instead, she just scowled as he stepped into the room. Once a week, either Martine or Jeremy restrained and blindfolded her until they reached some remote location in the woods. They would drive alongside as she ran down a forest path, aiming a gun at her head. This was her fresh air and exercise. 

They took her far enough away from their base that she wouldn't recognize the location. It was smart for them to take precautions. Just in case she was able to make contact with anyone on the outside. Shaw didn't want anyone to find her. At least not yet. She wanted them to stop looking and stay safe until she was ready to reach out. That was what she wanted. Unfortunately, that was not what had happened. Root showed up and almost got them both killed. 

Of course Root would ignore her call and come looking at the worst possible time. Shaw had started to gain their trust. She hadn't broken anyone's arm or slammed anyone against a wall in weeks. Then Root arrived and ruined everything. She was back to square one. Shaw was surprised they hadn't just shot her in the head after that incident. They were keeping her alive for a reason, and she hoped to find out their plans soon. 

Root's appearance wasn't a complete surprise. Shaw knew the hacker was determined. She thought about Root's search for the Machine and the lengths she had gone to obtain its location. If she wanted to find Shaw, eventually, she would. Even though this situation was fucked up, Shaw found herself impressed by Root's persistence. Root wasn't someone you wanted as an enemy. Shaw had come to realize just how merciless she could be, but she made one hell of an ally. 

"You're running out of passes, you know." The sound of Jeremy's voice filled the room once again, shaking Shaw from her thoughts. "Don't worry. That little incident hasn't gone unnoticed. We need you able-bodied for this trip. Once we arrive, we will have plenty of time to sort out your punishment." He smirked with a satisfied grin. 

Shaw swallowed hard keeping her eyes on the operative. She tried to push the thoughts of her previous punishments to the back of her mind. Some sessions lasted so long and brought her so close to the edge of death that she welcomed an end of any kind as long as it was quick. Jeremy usually stood in the corner, watching while Martine ran the show. Shaw had no respect for people who were reluctant to get their hands dirty. For this reason, when it came time to kill them, she would take Jeremy out first. _Two shots to the body at center mass followed by one to the head._ He didn't deserve any special attention. 

Two men walked into the room behind Jeremy carrying a black hood and zip ties. Shaw took a deep breath and stiffened her body. "Let's get this over with." She kept a harsh glare fixed on Jeremy up until the moment when everything went dark. 

*** 

Root sat hunched over her laptop when Harold walked in carrying a bag from the nearby Chinese food restaurant. The scent of food made her stomach grumble, and she realized how long it had been since her last meal. With some effort, they managed to identify the owner of the property where Sameen was located. A trail of accounts buried under various aliases led back to Greer. Not that she was surprised by this information. 

Reese returned to the farmhouse, only to find it abandoned. No traces of Samaritan remained in sight. They were good at covering their tracks. The location written on the note was easy enough to determine, but the reason Shaw wanted her there on that date and time remained a mystery.

Root's injuries were still healing, but she managed to visit the site twice since receiving Shaw's note. She sat in her car for hours, watching, though there was no sign of Samaritan operatives or any activity at all. It was a quiet and remote industrial area. The warehouse on the outskirts of the city had once stored building materials for transport to hardware stores and factories all over the country, but now it was an echoing, vacant space. Only the empty shipping containers remained.

She knew the layout of the area well. She had memorized routes for an easy exit and identified the best spots to take cover if a shootout ensued. The team was ready; she just wasn't sure what they were ready for. 

Harold walked over, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Take a break, and join me at the table," he said with a thoughtful smile.  

She couldn't recall how many hours had passed since she moved from this sofa. Root joined him, hesitant to leave her computer screen. Every moment she wasn't focused on planning Sameen's escape left her riddled with guilt. 

Harold glanced over at her. "Ms. Groves. Surely, you can take a moment to eat something." 

She realized she had been staring down at the table in front of her. She looked up, forcing a small smile, and reached for the nearest carton of chow mein. A part of her struggled to forgive Harold for doubting Sameen was alive, but he was a brilliant man, and she still respected him. She considered him a friend while most people she came across in this life were nothing more than a disappointment to the human race. Root pushed her food aimlessly across her plate and finally took a bite, forcing herself to chew. She caught a glimpse of Harold's scrutinizing gaze out of the corner of her eye. 

"Ms. Groves. When I was much younger, I stole a few items from a local hardware store."

Root looked up, giving Harold her full attention. He had always been such a private person, and this was the first time he shared a story from his childhood. 

"I nearly got caught. The police came, and I faced a decision: turning myself in or laying the blame on a group of boys. The boys were far from innocent although they had nothing to do with this incident. I saved myself. I passed the blame and let others take the fall for my actions." 

Root continued to stare over at Harold. The knowledge she learned about his past hadn't come directly from him. She went digging for information but in the end turned up a very little amount. Only what the Machine passed along and only when relevant to a mission. When a man like Harold Finch concealed information, it remained hidden.

"Do you know why I didn't take responsibility, Ms. Groves? All I could think about while I stood in that police station was the disappointment in my father's eyes. I told an elaborate lie to avoid judgment from the only person in this world that mattered to me." 

"My father's memory was failing. I stole those parts to create a system capable of remembering what he no longer could. I was desperate to save him, but I also felt helpless. I wanted to do something. Anything. My father was all I had, and my attempts to help him were unsuccessful. The equipment wasn't powerful enough. I was willing to do whatever it took because if I didn't, who would? There was no one else." 

"You were a kid, Harold. We all have regrets from our past. Things we would change if we could." Her voice trailed off. Root wasn't sure what else to say. Events far worse than this filled her childhood. She tried to push the image of Hanna Frey far from her mind but once in awhile the memories resurfaced. She found herself back in the library, as if it was yesterday, watching Hanna climb into Trent Russell's car. 

"Ms. Groves, I know the lengths people are willing to go to save someone they care for. That may have been my first experience, but it certainly wasn't my last. Sometimes, we are unable to save them. Sometimes, we get a second chance. What I'm trying to say is, this isn't your fault, Root. When it comes to saving Sameen, you're not alone in this fight. Not this time. I...I know I had my doubts." He paused looking down at the table. "And for that, I am truly sorry."

Root narrowed her eyes. Shaw needed them, and right now, she felt as helpless as a young Harold Finch. Those elevator doors slammed shut, and another person she cared for was gone, taken from her life. She reminded herself that this situation was different. _But was it?_ She knew Shaw was still alive, but for how long? 

Harold's story didn't have quite the effect he had hoped. She supposed it was meant to offer some comfort, but Root felt worse than before. She was grateful when Reese arrived, presenting a distraction. 

Reese wasn't alone. An attractive blonde entered the safe house with him. She didn't look happy to be there, and Root could see why. They were handcuffed together, both seeming miserable, but Root noticed a small smile on the woman's face as she turned away from Reese. 

"Who's your new partner in crime?" Root asked, setting her chopsticks down and giving this situation her undivided attention. This was far more entertaining than any story Harold could tell her right now. 

"What is this place?" The woman finally spoke. 

"This is Frankie. I was helping her—" 

"Helping me? Is that what you call this?" Frankie raised her arm, bringing Reese's up along with it. Not that anyone had missed the handcuffs. "I don't have time for whatever this is, and I don't need your so-called help." She glanced at Harold and Root with a smirk. "Are these your roommates?" 

"Come on. I've got an extra set of keys." Reese sighed and pulled her along in the direction of one of the bedrooms. 

"Nice to meet you." Root called out as they headed down the hallway. Reese shot her an irritated glance, and she realized she was smiling. It was the first genuine smile in what seemed like a lifetime. She almost felt guilty for allowing it to cross her face, but she could tell she liked this Frankie woman already. 

Root turned her attention away from the hall and back over to Harold. "Now might not be the best time to bring this up, but there's something I've wanted to discuss with you." 

"Yes, Ms. Groves?" Harold questioned.

"Were you going to tell me about the self-modifying code you've been working on to bring down Samaritan? Or were you afraid I'd try to talk you out of it because it's both incredibly brilliant and incredibly stupid." 

Harold froze. His eyes were wide as he looked over at her. "How did you—" 

"It doesn't matter, but in the future, you probably shouldn't leave your external drives laying around, even if they are encrypted." 

"I'd hardly say something locked away in my private safe was just laying around." 

Root simply shrugged and reached across the table, grabbing a fortune cookie. "Let me guess. You didn't want to see anyone else get hurt, so you thought it best to keep this to yourself. The thing is you're not the only one who's been working on code. You must have known that." 

Root snapped the cookie in her fingers. There was something satisfying about breaking the thick shell, and she was tempted to snap them all. She tossed half on the table absently before unfolding the slip of paper inside. 

_Something you lost will soon turn up._

Root stood up slamming the paper onto the table under the palm of her hand as she leaned closer towards Harold. "I think it's time we lay all our cards on the table, Harry. Didn't you just get through telling me I wasn't alone in this fight?" 

They stared at one another until Harold finally broke the silence. "All right, Ms. Groves. Please take a seat and I'll tell you what you want to know."

*** 

Monitors lined the new control room displaying locations around the city, but Martine Rousseau had no interest in watching these ordinary people go about their lives. She stood in front of the large white screen as it flashed commands. Ms. Groves would have referred to this as a god, but Martine didn't see it this way. Then again, she wasn't delusional or fanatic. She was simply doing her job. The room was slightly smaller than the previous control room, and the downgraded accommodations gave her another reason to kill the hacker when she had a chance. After all, she was to blame for their new location. If she couldn't kill the hacker, she would enjoy torturing Shaw in the meantime. 

 _Shaw._ It had been Greer's idea to keep her alive. Martine saw little value in it. They needed to locate the Machine, but there were other ways—less time-consuming ways. Martine was starting to get bored. It had been months since she shot anyone, and she was in need of some target practice. 

Jeremy walked in with his usual grin. Martine would have welcomed the opportunity to shoot him if she received the order. She hoped they would move on this soon. Greer and Jeremy both had more patience than she did. 

"People watching?" Jeremy walked over and stopped in front of one of the monitors. It was a park in the city. Children ran around while their parents sat on a blanket. A couple on a bench kissed, and an old man threw small bits of bread to a flock of birds. All blissfully ignorant of the fact that Samaritan watched over them.

"No." Martine sighed. "I was looking for somewhere to be alone." She shot Jeremy a dissatisfied glare. 

"Come now, love, no need for such a melancholy disposition. I have some news that might cheer you up?" 

Martine turned to face Jeremy. She highly doubted anything he had to say would cheer her up, but she stood with her arms crossed and waited. 

"I just spoke to Greer. Seems we are ready to move on phase two."

Phase two was good news although Martine was unsure why Greer didn't come to her directly with this information. 

"I wonder?" Jeremy paused. 

Martine truly didn't care what Jeremy wondered, but she found herself asking despite her better judgment. "What?" 

"I wonder if I had an opportunity to finish my conversation with Ms. Groves—reason with her—where we would be right now?" 

"There's no use wondering. You can't reason with someone like her. It's pointless," Martine replied flatly. No matter how they went about this, the outcome would be the same. They would destroy Harold Finch and his band of misfits along with the so-called God they so foolishly fought to save.


	7. Chapter 7

The air hung heavy with silence and uncertainty. Root took a deep, anxious breath and tried to exhale slow and steady to calm the nerves that pulled her in every direction. Her head wasn't silent. Her mind raced, and thoughts continued to whirl around leaving her dizzy. Hours that seemed to pass so slow all week now rushed by. She skipped breakfast this morning and sat alone in the kitchen sipping a cup of black coffee and trying to fight the unsettling feeling that had kept her up all night. It was almost time.

Reese headed out early to work one of Harold's new numbers. He was determined to make it back, for the mission...for Shaw. Although from the sound of things he would be tied up for awhile. Silva was still out of town visiting family; this wasn't her fight. That left Root on her own with Harold to assist over comms. Not much of an army to take down Samaritan and this was beginning to feel like a suicide mission.

“Still no word from the Machine?” Harold asked as he entered the kitchen. He already knew the answer but remained hopeful.

“Still silent.” Root stared down into the full cup of cold coffee between her hands. She pushed the cup across the table avoiding Harold's gaze and shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden dining chair. She thought about standing but knew she would pace the room and refused to give Harold another reason to look concerned.

A knock on the door broke the silence. "Expecting company?" Root asked, narrowing her eyes. Harold shrugged, but Root already left the kitchen and headed towards the front door. She peered through the peephole and rolled her eyes before swinging the door open to reveal a confused Lionel Fusco standing in front of her.

“Hey, loony tunes. Glasses asked me to give you a ride today. Mind telling me what's going on? I'm not a chauffeur you know. I do have a day job."

Root sighed and stepped to the side allowing Lionel to enter. Asking Lionel for assistance hadn't crossed her mind until now. He might not be her first choice, but she couldn't take down Samaritan alone. 

"Oh and by the way, thanks for that drug bust tip at the warehouse. You sure left a mess behind. Not that I should be surprised by now." Lionel shot a disapproving glance in Harold's direction as if he had any control over the events that unfolded.

"Nice to see you too Lionel.” Root smirked and disappeared down the hall leaving Harold with the task of updating Lionel. She didn't feel like recounting the events that led up to today. Besides, Harold had more patience when it came to dealing with the detective.

The safehouse bedroom began to feel like home. She stayed here for that eventful night when she passed out in the backseat of Reese's car and only returned to her apartment once to collect a few personal items— clothing and weapons. It seemed odd to admit but staying here was about the only thing that made sense right now.

She gathered a small arsenal from around the room and placed the items carefully inside a duffel bag. Before heading out, she flipped the light switch and paused for a moment taking a deep breath and staring into the dark stillness of the room. The calm before the storm, Root thought.

Lionel sat with a dumbfounded look on his face when Root returned to the living room. "Shaw's alive," he mumbled. He still appeared to be processing the news, and Root wondered how many details Harold left out.

"We should get going," Root said glancing between the two men. She tried to keep her voice steady.

“Root–” Harold started with his usual cautionary warning.

“Don't worry Harold. I'll be careful. Besides, I've got Lionel." She forced a smile and turned to walk out the door. In less than nine hours, they would finally have answers.

***

Root peered through the camera's telephoto lens. She saw nothing. The same as ten minutes ago when she last checked.

“Here let me look.” Lionel motioned for the camera.

There was still nothing to see, but she handed it over. Lionel fidgeted, and she would rather he stayed occupied to avoid small talk. They parked at a distance from the coordinates. Far enough away to avoid detection, or so she hoped. For all Root knew, operatives waited with scopes pointed at them right now. It was foolish to assume Samaritan wasn't watching.

“Shaw told you she has a plan? You should relax and trust her.” Lionel adjusted the camera lens.

"Relax? Once they get what they want from Shaw, they will kill her without hesitation."

"They? Who's they? And what exactly is it that _they_ want?"

Root raised an eyebrow and turned to meet Lionel's gaze. "Do you really want to know?"

"On second thought no. Forget I asked." He held the lens back up to his face.

"All you need to know is that Shaw's alive and we have a chance to make this right. I can promise you whatever is about to happen—the people we are up against—this isn't going to be easy. Relaxing is not an option.”

"Yeah, well with you and your daredevil friends, nothing's ever easy. That much I know by now, but whatever plan you brainiacs came up with you can count me in."

Root sank back into the hard vinyl seat that squeaked with every movement. They should have taken Harry's car. She gripped the armrest so tight that her fingers ached from the tension. Shaw saved Lionel's kid. He would never forget something like that. He cared for Shaw and considered her a friend. Even if Lionel was still in the dark when it came to Samaritan and the Machine, Root knew she could count on him.

The constant fear that this mission might go terribly wrong left Root's stomach twisted in knots. She couldn't sit here any longer, so she stepped out of the car to get some much needed fresh air. "I'm going to take a walk."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Lionel questioned.

"No, but we still have four hours. I'll be okay Lionel." Root rifled through the duffel bag in the backseat and retrieved two guns. She placed them in her waistband before quietly shutting the door.

Their target was a large gray industrial warehouse. No one had entered or exited the building since their arrival. An old freight train passed by twice. It rattled and shrieked across the rickety tracks before disappearing out of sight.

The sun began to set in the sky though it still shone bright enough to reflect light off the warehouse like a spotlight marking their destination. Root walked past the tracks and stood near the dock looking out across the water. A few boats tied nearby creaked as they swayed against the current. Otherwise, the entire area remained eerily quiet.

Root reached into her jacket pocket and wrapped her fingers around the small note from Sameen. This note was the reason they were here today.

_Every life matters._

The words Harold so frequently lectured echoed through her head. She still found herself questioning this belief. Unlike the mayhem twins, who put their lives on the line for strangers, she wasn't willing to go to such great lengths to save just anyone.

_Shaw wasn't just anyone._

Root grabbed her gun and gripped it tight. The sunlight bounced back off the warehouse nearly blinding her, but she made no attempt to look away. Harold had been right about one thing: everyone is relevant to someone.

_All right Sameen, I'm ready._

***

She felt the blood rush down her neck as she braced herself for the next blow. The contact from the last punch split her lip open and left her jaw stinging. She would have a black eye, but that was the least of her worries.

Shaw wiped the blood away with the back of her hand and noticed Martine leering at her from the corner where she casually leaned against the wall. She seemed to be enjoying the show.

_Shaw was six years old when her father taught her how to throw a punch. She stood in the middle of her living room shouting. Her arms flailed wild in all directions while she watched the fight on television. The men on the screen pounded each other blow by blow. Her mother shook her head and retreated into the kitchen, but her father looked over at her with an enthusiastic grin. You'll never win a fight like that he told her, laughing. Come Sameen, let me show you._

Shaw had no idea why this memory flashed through her mind now. None of the punches she threw would take this guy down. She hadn't caused any damage. This fight was hardly fair. The massively built man towered over her. He had to be at least six foot tall and all muscle.

_Where the fuck did they find this guy?_

The next punch he threw sent her stumbling back into a concrete pillar. The blow struck her like a sledgehammer across the face. The ground became unsteady beneath her feet. Air moved through her lungs sharp and thick, but somehow she managed to stay upright. 

"That's enough." Martine raised her hand stepping forward, and the man lowered his fists.

Shaw crouched over with her hands on her knees. She spat bright red onto the concrete floor and shook the haze from her blurred vision. "What's the matter, were you afraid I was going to kick your ass, so you sent this guy in?" Shaw snarled. Her face was hot and sticky with sweat and blood.

"No." Martine glared back. "I would have put a bullet in your head today so consider yourself lucky that I'm not the one deciding your punishment."

Luck wasn't something Shaw believed in right now, but anger was, and it burned within her.

Martine nodded at two men in suits that stood guard. "Clean her up and take her back to her room." She returned her gaze back to Shaw. "Tomorrow we have plans for you."

One of the men leaned forward to zip-tie Shaw's hands together. Both operatives had similar facial features. She might have had trouble telling them apart if it weren't for the large scar on this guys chin.

Every step echoed throughout the concrete hallway as they marched towards Shaw's new accommodations. This room was much smaller than the last but Shaw didn't care. She wasn't planning on getting too comfortable here.

_Buzz. Buzz._

The man with the scar paused to retrieve the vibrating cell phone out of his pocket. "I can't talk right now. Who is this?" The phone emitted a loud, high-pitched beep. The sound caught him off guard, and he struggled to keep his grip. The phone crashed onto the concrete and continued to beep. "What the–" 

He reached down to retrieve his phone, and Shaw took this opportunity to kick him hard in the jaw. She gave it everything she had and managed to knock him out cold. She grabbed hold of his taser omitting a flashing blue glint of light. The other operative attempted to restrain her, but he wasn't quick enough. Thousands of volts of electricity surged through him, and he wailed. His muscles locked and his rigid body crashed against the steel door. Both men lay unconscious on the ground. The faint smell of burnt cotton and flesh filled the air.

"Amateurs," she huffed, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

With her hands tied, she managed to search their pockets. She grabbed the two guns tucking them away for later and reached for the cell phone. The high pitched sound had stopped. Shaw held the phone to her ear and waited. _Silence._ Was she too late?

The small red light blinked frantically on the surveillance camera in the corner of the hall. They were watching, and she needed to move now.

_Can. You. Hear. Me._

For a moment Shaw worried the phone was broken after that idiot dropped it, but the audio came through loud and clear. It wasn't too late. The Machine was talking, and it was right on time.

"Yeah. Now let's get the hell out of here."

Shaw hurried down the corridor with the phone pressed against her ear. Four guards approached from the east corridor. She headed in the opposite direction towards the single operative guarding the west control room. He was a young recruit and would be easy to take down.

 _Michael Flores. Age 22._ _Discharged from the army with a gunshot injury to his right leg._ Shaw approached the operative from behind. Her years of training as an agent taught her how to be invisible. The young man never saw the attack coming. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled Michael into a sleeper hold. "Don't fight it." He squirmed, grasping to gain control but in less than a minute his body went limp, and she let him fall gently to the ground.

Silence filled the control room, hollow and vacant. The cabinets held limited supplies, but she rifled through until she found a box cutter. After some struggle, the zip tie pressed firm against her skin snapped, and she rubbed at her red wrists. A wave of relief rushed through her body as she gripped the gun, familiar and dependable in her hand.

She looked down at the unconscious man sprawled out across the floor. His left jacket pocket held an extra earpiece. She bent down and found it right where the Machine said it would be and placed it in her ear. In an instant, her head buzzed with sounds and tones that also offered a sense of comfort and security, but she didn't dwell on it. She was now armed and ready to follow the Machine's instructions.

Shaw cut the yellow wire inside the control box, releasing the locking mechanism to the escape hatch at ground level. The only way in or out of this place. The fluorescent lights flooding the room faded until darkness consumed her. An alarm sounded sending flashes of light into the hall. All operatives had been alerted now. Soon there would be more than she could handle on her own, even with the Machine's help. 

She moved slow, unable to see. Her shoulder barely brushed along the wall, too lightly to make a sound and she caught her breath, holding it in and narrowing her stare. With both arms extended, gun held out and finger ready on the trigger, she made her way through the confined hallway—a black tunnel in each direction. Light flashed, and she caught a glimpse of the path ahead blanketed in red.

 _Black. Red. Black. Red._ The light faded in and out like the steady pulse of a heartbeat.

The operatives were close. Having an all-seeing AI whispering instructions into your ear had its advantages. She began to understand Root's reckless overconfidence when it came to the Machine. It would be easy to believe you were invincible when you had access to a constant stream of information, but Shaw wasn't so easy to impress. She would rely on her instincts and training to guide her out of here. Right now her instincts told her  _keep moving or you will be dead_.

***

Root and Lionel had fallen into silence as they sat in the parked car. Root hunched near the window still fixed on the gray warehouse while Lionel crunched his way through a bag of potato chips. The sound wore on Root's last nerve. Something needed to happen soon, or she would snap, and Lionel might not make it out of this car alive.

A faint sound in the distance caught Root's attention, and she sat up a little straighter. "Did you hear that?" She glanced over at Lionel.

"Hear what?" He stopped chewing and listened—his hand still hovering over the bag of chips.

The barely audible sound of an alarm buzzed in the distance, and she bolted out of the car. She looked towards the direction of the gray warehouse and the source of the noise. Even from outside the vehicle the sound remained faint. It was ten minutes past nine. The sun had set some time ago, and moonlight now cast an ominous glow over the building.

Gunfire cut through the silence with a thunderous boom and Root reached for her own gun without hesitation.

"You should take a look at this," Lionel shouted as he slid the camera across the top of the car.

Root peered through the lens. "Shaw!" She cried out, sliding down the hill and towards the shooting before Lionel could protest. The crisp air whirled around her, shrieking against her ears but seemed almost quiet compared to the thundering pulse throbbing inside her head with every driving step. Root ran as fast as her her legs would carry her, ignoring the pain burning through her muscles. Her breath became sharp in her lungs like stabbing knives, but she didn’t slow down.

"Ms. Groves?" Harold's voice came over the comm's, but she ignored him. She focused on Shaw, who rushed out of the warehouse and disappeared behind a row of shipping containers.

The gunfire grew louder and multiplied. Root took cover and watched as Shaw took out each approaching operative one by one. They kept coming. She counted eight more and watched them divide into pairs, approaching from all sides. Shaw wouldn't be able to hold them off much longer.

Root fired off a few shots as she ran along the rows of containers. "Shaw?" She approached slowly, the way you'd approach a wounded animal. Her heart sank at the sight of swollen skin and cuts lining Shaw's face. "Shaw, Lionel is parked just up the hill. We need to get out of here. There are too many operatives. We can't hold them off." 

"I know," Shaw replied. She focused on returning fire, careful to avoid Root's scrutinizing gaze. "I've got three shots left."

Root placed a hand on Shaw's shoulder, and she flinched from the contact. _What have they done to you Sameen_ , Root wondered, but there was no time to think about that now. "Let's go," She whispered tugging at Shaw's jacket until she finally had her attention. Their eyes locked for a brief moment and Root looked away this time. Something was different,  _darker_.

Root led the way as they ran towards the car. Shots surrounded them from all directions. _Keep moving, s_ he repeated to herself, but she paused to glance back at Shaw, who seemed determined to make her last three shots count. 

As they approached, Lionel stood by the driver's door returning fire. "Get in," he shouted.

They climbed into the car. Root searched the duffel bag and handed Shaw a loaded gun. The sight of the remaining operatives grew smaller as they sped away. Lionel made a sharp turn, and they headed down the frontage road in silence.

"That sure was close." Lionel let out a loud exhale. "You two all right?"

Shaw's eyes narrowed. The warning from the Machine came only moments before the impact.

"Lionel. Look out!" Shaw shouted.

A black sedan crashed into the driver's side with enough force to send them skidding. The shrill noise of metal grinding together sent flashes of sparks out across the roadway until the car rolled forward a few feet before halting with a jolt.

Shaw blinked trying to focus. The impact and what flashed before her eyes only moments ago sent alarm bells ringing through her head. The scent of smoke reached in like a thick billowing fog, and she choked it out in painful gasps. Her side burned, and she groaned. _A broken rib._  She turned her head and caught a glimpse of Lionel's limp body in the driver's seat. Blood trickled down the side of his face, but his chest swelled with each breath. He was unconscious but still alive.

"Root?" Shaw called out, but she received no answer.

Shaw tried to shift her body and look into the back seat, but a searing pain sent flashes of light flickering before her eyes _._ She clenched her teeth and forced out a deep, unsteady breath. _The gun?_   _Where_ _is_ _it?_ She searched, but the weapon was nowhere in sight. 

Heavy footsteps crunched over broken glass near the driver's side. Her connection with the Machine remained active, but the whispered warning did her no good while unarmed. "Lionel. Lionel, wake up." He let out a grunt and slowly turned to face her. "Lionel, can you move? Someone's coming." 

The loud crash of a gunshot broke the silence and glass erupted from the windshield with enough force to land on Shaw's arm with a sting. The driver's door swung outward, and Jeremy Lambert's eyes sparked with a dark intensity that she had never seen before. Not quite this dark, she thought.

Shaw struggled beneath the seatbelt that trapped her in place, but all she could do was watch Lambert raise his gun and fire two shots into Lionel Fusco's chest. Terror rushed through her as his body shuddered before going limp. She tugged at the strap with all of her force and tried to focus on something, anything other than Root. _Is Root unconscious? Is she alive?_ Her mind raced with all the dark thoughts that flooded in. She needed to escape. She needed to fight back, but it was already too late. Her passenger door swung open, and she turned her head just in time to see the grip of the gun before it struck her hard across the face.

***

Lionel gasped for air and clutched his chest. Heat pounded beneath his flesh sending fiery, sharp pains radiating out from the center of his body. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt. The kevlar vest had stopped the bullets from entering, but it hurt like hell. He coughed out the remaining smoke that still lingered in the air. _How_ _long_ _have_ _I_ _been_ _unconscious?_ The door to the backseat hung open, and the empty car vibrated with a low hiss that seemed to be coming from the hood. He slid out of the seat and down onto the hard street with little grace. The movement seemed to drain him of every last ounce of energy. He remained slumped down, taking rapid shallow breaths until his second wind kicked in and he was able to prop himself up against the side of the vehicle. "Glasses, hey, are you there?"

"Detective Fusco what's going on?"

"They took them."

"They took who detective?" 

"Men in suits. They've got Root and Shaw. I'm going to need some help here."

"Hold on, detective. I'm sending assistance."

Lionel sat staring at the shards of glass and tire marks painted across the road. They were so close to driving away. They were so close to getting Shaw back. He wasn't even sure what happened. The escape blurred in his mind, too fast and too unreal. The events, however, were real, and he shut his eyes letting the very real heat pulse within his chest.

They had failed, and now both Root and Shaw were gone.


	8. Chapter 8

The ice-cold water hit her face like sharp needles piercing the skin. She had received no warning before a hand gripped the back of her head plunging her down further. Root struggled in the submerged space. She reflexively inhaled water and choked causing her body to spasm as she resisted the urge to breathe in. How much longer could she hold her breath?

Her body was forced back into the hard metal chair. She gasped, taking deep, shaky breaths until she began to regain control.  

 _Slow and steady._ _Focus._  

Cold air moved across her face, and she noticed a glass window across the room was open, letting in the breeze. She shivered in the dark, vacant space and wondered if Samaritan occupied all the abandoned warehouses in the City. After this week, she despised the site of concrete floors and fluorescent lighting. 

Her rage swelled as she glared up at the approaching operative. "Where's Shaw?" Root fixed her eyes on the blonde as she moved towards her, staring with a cruel, relentless gaze. 

Martine pressed her gun against Root's temple. "You don't get to ask questions," she smirked maliciously as they locked eyes. 

Steps echoed through the small concrete building as a dark haired man dressed in black made his way across the room and paused in front of Martine. Root strained to decipher the words, but their whispers were barely audible. He took a step back and crossed his arms. Martine appeared to be irritated by his presence, but she nodded before turning her attention back to the crazed, thin-framed woman she held at gunpoint. 

"You're nothing more than a pawn," Root sneered. "How long before the order comes down to put a bullet in your head? You think you're in charge? It's adorable how wrong you are." She thrashed her arms until her skin burned beneath the zip ties. 

"Save the reformed killer speech. We've been expecting you. That's the problem when you start to care—when you give value to the cause and the lives of others. You become vulnerable and predictable." Martine narrowed her eyes before striking Root across the face.  

Root's head swayed for a moment from the contact, but she raised her gaze back up meeting Martine's eyes. She refused to show any signs of weakness and despite the burning sensation filling every inch of her body she kept a grin in place. Martine, however, remained expressionless although Root got the sense she was enjoying herself.  

"You want to know where Shaw is? She is getting the personal attention she deserves. I think I'll kill her first and let you watch." 

"Don't you lay a hand on her or I'll—" 

"You'll what?" Martine snapped. "You are in no position to make threats."  

Root wasn't sure how she was going to get out of here, but she thought of all the things she would do if she managed to get her hands on the operative. The slow torture she would force her to endure.  

 _You'll pay for this. If you hurt Sameen, I'll kill you. I'll kill all of you._  

"I received a message moments ago, and it seems we have a slight change of plans," Martine spoke in a sharp tone that echoed through the empty space. She raised her gun and took aim.  

The shot came without warning sending a bullet tearing through Root's side. Her other gunshot wounds were still on the mend, and now she would have another scar to add to her growing collection— _if she survived_. A searing heat took hold, working its way through her body. Her vision began to blur and everything faded away. 

*** 

"Like I said I didn't get a good look at the guys. The car came out of nowhere." Lionel focused on his busted car. The smoke cleared from the area, but the scent of burnt rubber and gasoline still lingered in the air. 

The sky was almost pitch black, and the ambulance lights flashed like searchlights, lighting up the quiet street and giving the illusion of daylight. 

"Are we finished here?" He asked the NYPD officer as she glared over at him. She didn't appear satisfied with his statement, but he had better things to do than stand around answering questions. He clutched his bandaged side. The paramedics examined him when they arrived on scene. Despite his protests, he still needed medical attention. 

"You're going to have one hell of a bruise tomorrow, Lionel," Reese called out as he approached. He stopped short of the officer and flashed his badge. "Detective Riley, Eighth Precinct homicide. Ma'am, If you don't mind, I'd like to have a word with my partner." 

The officer nodded in defeat. The woman knew she wouldn't get any more details from the detective, so she turned and headed towards the crash site. 

Reese trailed the tire marks across the asphalt until his eyes landed on the broken sedan at the edge of the road. "Harold, do you have any information on Root and Shaw's location yet?" 

"I'm afraid only the Machine can help us now," Harold replied with reluctance. 

"It's not too late. We can get them back. I know we can." There was desperation in the detective's eyes, and it was apparent Lionel was eager to put this rescue mission into action. 

"Lionel, you're going to sit this one out," said Reese. Lionel looked like hell. Traces of blood stained his cheek, and a deep gash lined his forehead. He should be at a hospital right now, not heading into danger.

"What? Come on you gotta let me help. I'm not staying here," Lionel protested. 

Reese didn't think Lionel would be of much use in his current condition, but he had worked with the detective long enough to know Lionel was persistent. Reese also knew he blamed himself for what happened and needed a chance to make this right. 

"Come on Lionel,” Reese sighed. “It's time to go.” He headed towards his car with Lionel trailing after. "Finch your Machine better start talking, and fast. Lionel was unconscious for awhile, and we are running out of time. If Root and Shaw are still alive, they won't be for long."  

*** 

Root gasped. Her eyes shot open, and she focused her vision on the syringe still plunged into her arm. She had to stop waking up like this. This wasn't the first time she was tortured with needle injections. Her thoughts drifted to her last encounter with Control. Someday soon she hoped to have another chat with the head of intelligence, but that meeting would have to wait. 

Martine leaned in closer. "Turns out you're even more valuable than your little girlfriend, so I'm going to keep you alive...for now. Just so we're clear if it were up to me, I would have put a bullet in your head the moment you arrived. You can't blame me for getting one shot in first." Martine smirked glancing at Root’s blood soaked shirt. "It did feel good to fire a gun again although I prefer the kill shot. Why pull the trigger unless you're aiming to kill. Waste of a perfectly good bullet if you ask me."

Martine walked over to the metal desk occupying the far corner of the room and opened a black bag. She reached inside and pulled out a small knife. The sharp blade glistened in her hand. “There are a few details about the Machine’s location that Shaw just couldn't seem to answer. That’s where you come in.”

“What makes you think I'll talk to you? You're just going to kill me. Root sneered through clenched teeth. Sweat, blood, water or some mixture of all three trickled down her face.

“Relax. When I'm through with you, you'll be begging me to put a bullet into your head. Just like Shaw.” She held the small knife out in front of Root. “You'd be surprised how much information she gave up with the right amount of persuasion.”

“You're lying.”

“Am I? Everyone has a breaking point. Now, let's see how long you last. I'm guessing this will be over soon." 

“Sooner than you think.” Shaw stood at the entrance of the small room clutching a pipe between her scraped knuckles. Root blinked a few times taking in her appearance; she seemed to be in worse condition than before. It was a miricle the woman was still alive. Shaw wasn't aware of the movement behind her. Root shouted a warning, and she spun around to put up a defense, but she was slow. _Too slow._  

All the fatigue over the past hours, all the constant strain, robbed her of the precious seconds she needed to react. The operative kicked her hard in the back of the knee and her leg folded underneath her with a jolt of pain. She tumbled to the concrete floor hitting her jaw and letting out a groan.  

Root tested the slack in the zip-ties. There was a small degree of freedom, but not enough to escape. She tugged until her wrists were red and raw, but she could only watch as Shaw lay on the ground struggling to move.  

 _Sameen, get up. Get up._  

Shaw's head throbbed, and her mouth stung, but she fought to regain awareness. Root called out again, but her words were muffled and indistinct. The sound distorted through the fog left behind by the impact. The blurred outline of a figure approached. There was no time to hesitate, no chance of survival if she didn't react. Her adrenaline pulsed. She would keep fighting.  

Shaw kicked the operative with enough force to send him crashing down beside her. She clutched his throat hitting hard enough to blow the air out of his lungs. Once she was able to focus she grabbed his gun and fired a shot into his chest. He eyed her with a murderous glare wheezing and coughing up blood as he struggled to stay alive.  

"Drop the gun." Martine pressed the barrel of her weapon against Shaw's head. "Quite an impressive performance. You just don't seem to die, do you? I knew I should have finished you off at the stock exchange." 

Shaw remained on the ground hunched over. From the corner of her eye, she saw the black barrel of Martine's gun. She considered her options. Only one other agent stood in the room near Root. She had no way of knowing how many others waited nearby to charge in on Martine's command. She had killed the three operatives who held her captive in the adjoining room. Through her exhaustion, she fought to take them down one by one, but Martine was one of Greer's top operatives. She would put up one hell of a fight.   

Shaw was at a disadvantage. She could barely stand without tumbling to the ground in pain, but she had to try. She calculated each movement and eased her hand around in preparation. She would only have one chance to finish this. 

Whatever drug they injected into Root was working fast. She struggled to fight the effects, but she seemed to be losing the battle. Her head bobbed in front of her, and her eyes fluttered shut.  

"Hold her head up," Martine commanded as she motioned towards Root. "I wouldn't want her to miss this."  

In that one brief moment when Martine looked away, Shaw made her move. She had seconds to turn away from the gun barrel. Martine pulled the trigger, reacting without hesitation. The shot missed by inches, but the booming discharge in such a close vicinity left Shaw's ears ringing.  

They both struggled to gain control of the gun. Bullets shrieked and sparked off the hanging pipes above. She steadied her hand twisting Martine's arm until the weapon fell from her grip. With her finger quick on the trigger, she fired at the agent near Root, and he collapsed to the ground. She turned the weapon on Martine and hoped for a kill shot but in all the chaos she was glad the bullet made contact with her leg.  

The shot sent Martine scrambling behind the desk. "How far do you think you're going to get?" You'll never make it out of here alive." 

"I seem to be doing fine." Shaw shot at the metal desk. "Who's the one with the gun here?” The near empty room made it difficult to take cover so instead she moved with determination towards the operative. 

She made it halfway before a canister rolled across the ground. The flash grenade released a shock of light that rattled the windows.  

The thunderous noise shook Root awake, and she tried to focus through blurred vision. Gunshots echoed, and the glass broke before she caught a glimpse of Martine retreating through the doorway and out into the darkness. She glanced at the operative dead on the ground with a single shot to the head. Smoke lingered low over the body. 

Shaw staggered towards her and knelt down, ripping her shirt sleeve and fastening the cloth around her arm. Root had drifted in and out of consciousness and somehow missed the moment when Shaw got shot.  

Shaw picked up the fallen operative's gun and glared out the opening where Martine escaped. "I should have killed that bitch." 

"Sameen. We need to leave this place.” 

"What the hell are you doing here? Shaw grumbled and tugged at the zip ties around Root's wrists. "I told you I had a plan." 

"I came...because of...your note." Root struggled to speak. She couldn't make sense of what was happening. A haze clouded her ability to think and react. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open, but the sound of Shaw's voice pulled her towards consciousness. 

"The Machine told me to give you that note." 

"She's talking to you now?" Root questioned, looking up. Her eyes stung at the sight of the dark-haired women in front of her, but she fought to keep her composure. It was bad enough that she had come to rescue Shaw and ended up in this compromising position.  

"No, not exactly. We can talk about this later. I need to find something to cut these ties." Shaw watched as Root's movements slowed. She was fading. "You weren't supposed to end up here. Not like this."

“I think your plan has changed Sameen.” 

The anger Shaw held inside seemed to fade when she noticed the blood soaking through Root's shirt. "You've been shot?" Shaw searched through the pockets of the fallen operatives until she found a knife. She wasted no time cutting the zip ties from Root's arms and legs. 

"It's fine. It's just a scratch," Root assured her with a feeble smile, but it faded instantly. She bit her lip and tried to steady her shaking hands as she motioned to stand.  

"Doesn't look fine." Shaw placed a hand on her shoulder lowering her back into the chair. She lifted the corner of Root's shirt and inspected her side. "You're lucky. It just clipped you. An inch or two over and you'd be bleeding out right now. You'll need stitches. I saw medical supplies in the other room." She placed the extra gun in Root's hand. "Try not to pass out, or get shot again while I'm gone." 

"Shaw wait!" Root called out.  _Don't go. Don't leave me._ Her eyes grew wide as she watched Shaw slip through the door leaving her anxious and alone. Their reunion was brief, and Root worried she might not see her again. She just got Shaw back, and she knew how everything could change in one brief moment.  

*** 

Reese parked the car down the dark street with the front pointed towards the highway so they could make a quick getaway. It was a mechanical action that came to him without a second thought. "We're here Harold," he called over the comms. 

"Good Mr. Reese," Harold replied. "This stop was an unexpected detour for Samaritan, which might work to our advantage. There should be far fewer operatives here than the previous location." 

"What is this place?" Lionel asked, peering through the windshield. "Root and Shaw—they're here?" 

They both stepped out of the car. Beyond the oasis of light cast down from the street lamps, there was darkness, and nothing but woodland, vacant lots and areas of industrial facilities for miles around. 

"Let's hope so." Reese loaded his gun and tucked it into his jacket pocket. "Hand me that bag in the back seat will you?" 

Lionel nodded and stretched to grab hold of the duffel bag. With his back turned, Reese hit him over the head only hard enough to knock him unconscious. His body went limp, and he hunched over the seat. Reese positioned him facing forward and tossed two extra guns nearby. 

"Sorry Lionel. I'm going to need you to wait in the car." 

*** 

Much to Root's relief Shaw reappeared holding a box of medical supplies and helped her up onto the desk. Root forced her eyes shut for a moment as she lowered her body, still unable to stop grinning despite the fire burning through her side. Shaw was here. They were beaten up, but alive. That's all that mattered.  

"You must have nine lives," Shaw tilted her head to the side. 

"If I only had nine I'd be dead by now." 

She ran her warm hands against Root's skin as she began inspecting the wound. Root's pulse raced, and her head swirled. Dizzy from a combination of the drugs, her injuries and Shaw's touch.

They heard two gunshots outside, and a moment later Reese sprinted into the room. He stood in the open doorway watching as a man came racing toward him. With one swift push, Reese swung the door hard. The solid wood made contact with the guards face, knocking him out cold. 

"Shaw. You're back from the dead...again," Reese kept his voice quiet and steady, but it was apparent he was happy to see her by the smile spreading across his face. 

"Yeah, you'd know a thing or two about that?" Shaw nodded in his direction before returning her attention to Root's injury. 

"We should get out of here. More guards are heading this way." 

"Root's been shot. I need to patch her up." 

"I don't think there's time. Grab the supplies. You can finish up in the car on the way back." 

Shaw was getting ready to suture the wound. "Can't you hold them off? I'll be quick." 

"I can try," Reese replied with uncertainty. 

"Sameen, we should go. I'm okay. This can wait." Root's voice was frail, but she was determined to leave. Her muscles tensed, and she knew she wouldn't relax until they were far away from this place.  

"Who has the medical training here?" Shaw narrowed her eyes, shooting Root a stern glare. "I should warn you this is going to hurt." 

Root sighed in defeat and braced herself for the needle that was coming. Shaw worked with a look of deep concentration while Root stayed quiet, letting her focus. She thought this was still better than a trip to the hospital. Root hated hospitals. Nausea crept in, and she struggled to stay awake, but refused to let herself pass out again...refused to take her eyes off Shaw.  

Gunfire broke through a nearby window scattering shards of glass into the room. Reese ducked for a moment before returning fire. "I'm running low on ammo," he shouted. 

"Here, take mine." Shaw held her gun out. "Almost finished," she whispered as he grabbed the weapon from her hand. Once she sutured Root, she leaned in closer. "Ready to get out of here?"  

Root nodded. "You should take my gun." She was in no condition to shoot at anything right now. Shaw had become a blurred shape in front of her. 

Shaw armed herself, with Root slumped over her shoulder and Reese leading the way. They headed out the opening Martine escaped through. 

"Well hello there." Root grinned through gritted teeth. The Machine was back and giving her instructions. "Three operatives are approaching from the north in two minutes," Root mumbled under her breath. She couldn't hold on much longer.  

They faced some resistance at the gate leading to the road, but with the Machine's help, they were able to make their way back to the car and eliminate all the oncoming agents. "That should be it for now," Root said, unsure of how long they'd have before more operatives arrived. Root had difficulty standing without support. Both Shaw and Reese helped her climb into the back seat next to Lionel, who remained unconscious. 

"You okay?" Shaw asked with piercing concern. 

The expression on Shaw's face sent a pain through Root's chest.  

 _I’m sorry, Shaw._  

 _I should have worked faster, found you sooner—never let you out of my sight._  

 _This is my fault._  

"Don't worry about me. We need to move, now." There was a sense of urgency in Root's voice.  

"Harold said there's a laptop here that we need to bring back?" Something about a program the two of you were working on. Reese glanced between Root and Shaw waiting for a reply. 

"What? I don't know," said Shaw. "I've never been inside this place before today. Can't we ask the Machine where—"  

"There's no time. We have to get out of here." Root said impatiently. 

Reese turned his attention to Root, demanding an answer. "We need to finish this. Ask the Machine about this laptop. I'll go back in there." 

"She's not telling." Root's voice trembled as she spoke. "More operatives are on the way. John, I want to end this as much as you, but there's no chance in hell we make it out alive unless we leave now."  

"Reese just drive," Shaw commanded as she climbed into the front seat.  

Root shifted in an attempt to get more comfortable. She had to let go. Despite her best efforts, she could no longer fight the effects that battled throughout her body. They weren't safe yet, but Shaw and The Machine had both returned. She closed her eyes letting the sound of gunfire lull her into a much needed deep sleep.  

***

With her gun loaded, Shaw leaned out the window sending a few shots through the air and into the approaching vehicle. The car tailing them crashed into a fence and grew distant as they sped away. Shaw climbed back into the seat and tossed her firearm on the dash.  

"You all right?" Reese glanced at her. He knew the answer. Nothing about these last months with Samaritan would be okay, but the woman sitting beside him was a fighter. If anyone could come back from this, it was Shaw. 

"What the hell were you guys doing?" Shaw glared over at Reese waiting for a response. 

He shrugged glancing back at Root, who's breathing became slow and steady as she slept. “Saving you.”  

"Well, you suck at planning rescue missions." Shaw pinched the bridge of her nose. “I told her to stay away.” 

"Did you think she was going to listen? She's stubborn...like someone else I know," he said smiling over at Shaw.


	9. Chapter 9

**Five Months Ago**

He was still breathing when she left him. The pulse in his neck remained weak, but he would live...assuming someone found him within the next four to six hours. Root stepped out of the car and headed through the snowfall surrounding her in all directions. She glanced back at the vehicle. Her footprints had vanished, erased by a blanket of white covering the ground. She was never here. The wind picked up sending the cold stinging sleet across her face. She willed herself to keep moving. The light from the bar still glowed like a beacon in its vacant surroundings, but no signal would guide her through this emptiness.

She should have killed the man in the car. Ending his life would have been a satisfying conclusion to this otherwise unsuccessful day. Anything would be better than this uncertainty consuming her. This man's fate—whether he lived or died—rested in her hands. Finally, a situation she controlled. It wasn't much, but it was something. When the Machine gave her orders, she rarely knew the outcome, but this was different. This uncertainty haunted her. It was as if she was running in place with chains holding her back, never moving forward.

"Sometimes it's better not to know," she mumbled under her breath. The Machine told her this once. As she stood here now, she failed to see the truth in this statement no matter the context. All she wanted was an answer. Whatever the outcome, Root needed to know. 

She glanced back at the car one last time and inhaled a breath of icy air. The sharp pain stabbed its way through her lungs. She exhaled with jarring force and realized she no longer felt cold, just numb. 

Root made her way back to the small motel just off the highway. She had rented a room for one week, paying in cash and signing in under the name Joan Mauchly. The old couple working behind the front desk studied her with curiosity. Evidently they didn't see many women checking in, especially alone. They made a point to let her know but refrained from asking any questions when she slipped an extra fifty dollars across the counter.  

The inside of her room was just as dated as the outside. The musty smell of dust hung heavy in the air. Brown and orange furnishings reminded her of the small house in Texas where she spent as little time as possible. Her mother wasn't one for keeping up appearances and the decor never changed. 

Some memories were inescapable. The scent of tobacco, old books, and dust all triggered vivid flashbacks from her childhood. On rare occasions, she was transported back without warning. Back to hot summer days and the reminder of that constant pull that always consumed her,  _urged her_ , to escape...to keep moving.

She removed her boots and shook the snow off her jacket before hanging it near the doorway. The recollections that raced through her mind when she entered this space were just another reason she couldn't wait to leave. 

Root crossed the room and stopped in front of the faded and peeling wallpaper that she had covered with photographs and notes. Her finger trailed along the map pausing at all the places she visited recently. She removed the picture of the man she questioned from the bar today and tossed it aside. Another lead to cross off her list.

She lifted another tattered image from the wall and made her way to the edge of the bed. It had been shuffled from wall to wall each time she set up in a new location, and it was beginning to show signs of its travels. Root had taken the photograph from Harold's files before leaving New York. Shaw's eyes burned from the image with the same expression of control and determination that Root remembered so well. The look was enough to set her skin on fire. A rush of heat and guilt swelled up inside.

She allowed the image to fall from her grip and watched it glide slowly down to the carpet where it landed without a sound, and she suddenly became aware of the unsettling silence. The silence that always left her shouting inside while her mind raced. She had come to hate this silence because it was anything but quiet and peaceful. 

The image landed upright, and those piercing eyes stared back up. Root sunk onto the bed allowing the weight of her body to press into the mattress like an anchor holding her in place. One unsuccessful trip after another tugged at her chest and pressed out all the air from her lungs. She gripped the sheets until her knuckles turned white and she wanted to scream. She wanted to break something or someone. Root did feel something. Helpless.

**Present Day**

Root awoke to a hand gently shaking her arm. She recognized the dim amber lighting and inlaid tiles overhead and knew she was back inside the subway station. The recent events still seemed unreal, so she was slightly startled by the sight of Harold standing over her with a look of concern on his face.

"How are you feeling Ms. Groves?" He set down a glass of water and two pills. "These should help to ease the pain," he said as he motioned towards the medication.

“Shaw? Where is she?” Root questioned while scanning the room. She made to get up, but Harold stepped forward placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her. 

“Ms. Shaw is getting some much-needed rest. Although I fear you may be in even worse condition. She's going to be fine, but you need to stay put. Try to keep those stitches intact.” He glanced down at her latest bandage. She seemed to acquire a new one each time one was removed.

"I need to see her Harold." Root tried not to think about Shaw's bruised and swollen appearance but the image flashed through her mind. _She's going to be fine._ The words Harold spoke offered little comfort. Shaw was held captive by Samaritan. How could she be okay?

"Ms. Groves, please let her sleep. I just checked on her a moment ago. I...wanted to ask you a question. Martine...Greer, are they still alive?" 

"I didn't see Greer, but Martine escaped. I caught a glimpse of her exiting the warehouse. The details are still a blur thanks to my injection." Root rubbed at her arm. 

"Did Ms. Shaw have an opportunity to stop the operative?" Harold paused for a moment averting his eyes.

Harold could dance around the question he really wanted to ask, but she knew where this line of questioning was headed. She narrowed her eyes and stared at him in silence studying his expression. "We can trust Shaw. If she wanted to kill me, she could have done so on more than one occasion."

"Try to be objective Ms. Groves. If Samaritan wanted to bring down the Machine sending someone to destroy us from the _inside_ is a plausible scenario."

Root thought about Harold's implications for a moment, but she refused to doubt Shaw's loyalty. She was certain the Machine would alert them if they were in danger. "No Harold. Shaw is one of us."

"I want to believe, and I do hope you are right. However, a great deal can change in eight months. We can't even begin to fathom what Ms. Shaw has been through at the hands of Samaritan. People can change. You said so yourself." 

"Don't do that—don't twist my words." She shook her head. She grew more irritated with each word Harold spoke. She wanted him to turn around and walk away. If she weren't confined to this cot, Root would have left already. Shaw was alive. Nothing else mattered, and Root wasn't about to let her wake up to Harold's accusations.

"I just think we should err on the side of caution until we know more. I fear you may be letting your feelings for Ms. Shaw cloud your judgment." 

"I can't believe we are even having this conversation. You of all people Harold. You see the good in humanity, but you won't trust one of your own. What happened to innocent until proven guilty."

"A great deal has changed since I first set out to save the irrelevant numbers. The world is a much darker place, and so are the people in it. Even I've done things I could never have imagined." 

"We all have Harold. And we are all still here. We managed to survive this long against all odds and do you want to know why? Why we are still alive and breathing. Because Shaw almost _died_ to save us."

"Do you really want to do this? Pick sides after everything we've fought for. We need Shaw. We can't do this without her." Root's voice became unsteady as she spoke. 

Harold looked at the ground, breaking eye contact. "It wasn't my intention to upset you, Ms. Groves...Root. You should rest." He shifted in place. "I'm going out for a short while. Please be careful."

"I'll be fine." She met his eyes again knowing the meaning behind his words. What he meant to say was be careful around Shaw. She swallowed hard and leaned back into the bed without uttering another word. This conversation was over. She had made that quite clear from the expression on her face, and she watched as Harold turned to walk away.

***

Root opened her eyes and scanned the dark room trying to focus. All the lights were off except the familiar glow from the computer monitors inside the subway car. She must have fallen asleep again. There was no clicking of keys or whisper of Harold's voice as he spoke over the comms and she realized he hadn't returned yet. 

With some effort, she was able to stand, but it wasn't easy, and it hurt like hell. She took a deep breath and pushed through the pain. She had to see her. She would be quiet and careful not to wake her, but she had to see for herself. Dragging her cot across the station to keep an eye on Shaw had already crossed her mind. Each time she started to nod off panic gripped her, and her eyes shot open. Shaw was safe down here. They could rest easier knowing they were off Samaritan's radar, although her stomach remained in knots. 

Her hand reached out towards the wall to steady herself as she made her way through the darkness. Shaw was already awake sitting upright with her hands on her knees, gaze fixed on the ground. Root's steps were loud enough to announce her arrival but Shaw didn't move. 

Root leaned against the wall unsure what to say. She wasn't expecting Shaw to be awake. The small lamp near Shaw's bed cast an ominous glow across the woman, and she appeared small and fragile. Nothing like the Shaw she had known, and nothing like the woman in any of the pictures Root carried with her. 

The determination and confidence had been replaced by sadness and exhaustion, and it was an unbearable sight. The swelling across Shaw's face had gone down, but black and purple bruises remained. The injuries would heal, but she couldn't help but wonder what else was broken.

Root didn't have a chance to look at herself in a mirror since their return, and she had a feeling she didn't look any better. 

"Finch doesn't trust me," Shaw said breaking the silence.

"Harold is just being...Harold," Root replied, stepping out of the shadows. She wondered if Shaw had overheard her argument with Finch earlier. "He trusted you with his secret because he knows you. He knows you are a good person."

"What about Reese? Where the hell is he? He couldn't wait to get out of here."

"Don't worry Sameen they will come around. They just need some time."

"We don't have time." Shaw looked up meeting Root's gaze. "Do you trust me?" 

Root's heart sank. She swallowed hard and stared back. Shaw's eyes were fixed on her, and they seemed to burn right through her. It was as if someone sucked all the oxygen out of the room and turned the heat up. She broke the gaze. She had to look away and was finally able to take a breath.

Shaw was alive. She was safe here in Harold's subway hidden in the shadows. The maze of underground tunnels would keep her off  Samaritan's radar, but Shaw's wounds would heal. She wouldn't stay down here forever, and this war wasn't over yet. 

_I can't lose you again._

She never imagined they would all survive, but the thought of losing Shaw, after they just got her back, terrified her. Root was prepared to die for this cause, but she never anticipated the pain she would endure when Shaw went missing. It hit her harder than she had ever imagined. 

Shaw studied her with curiosity. She still hadn't replied to the woman's question. Root took a step closer. "Of course, I trust you." She reached out a hand, but Shaw shifted away, and she was left hovering in mid-air.

“Shaw…” Root began but didn't know where to start. She had been relentless in her search and dreamt of this reunion countless times, but now that the moment arrived she found no words would come. 

"They are planning another attack soon."

Root exhaled, grateful for the subject change. There was so much to say but now wasn't the time. Harold might return at any moment, and she didn't want him listening in on their conversation. "Sameen, what do you know?"

"I know we don't have time to sit around here and recover." She gripped her side and gritted her teeth. "We can't keep running forever. We knew the risks. War requires sacrifice. Isn't that what you said?"

Root stared at her, but Shaw looked past her with a blank expression. She seemed so far away. A silence followed, an empty silence as if they were separated by a vast body of water, the currents pulling them farther apart. 

"Turns out some things are too important to sacrifice," Root replied.

Shaw looked at her again with sorrow in her eyes and Root wanted to reach down and grab hold of her. She wanted to tell her just how important she was because even if Shaw already knew, Root needed to say it out loud— _You're too important to me. I need you—_ but she remained silent. 

"I should get some rest and so should you," Shaw said as she glanced at the wound on her arm and winced. 

Root nodded and without another word she headed back towards her cot. She clutched her own bandage. The pain killers Harold had given her must be wearing off already. She was exhausted. Harold was right about one thing, she needed time to recover, and Shaw was in no condition to fight. 

They both needed time, but some wounds would take much longer to heal.

***

The sun glistened across the water as Harold strolled along the pier. He reached up and rubbed at his eyes. He hadn't slept much. Four hours at most since they received Shaw's note. If he was honest with himself, his lack of sleep began much earlier than this. Somewhere around the time, he completed the Machine. 

It was still early and the seagulls squawked above, circling the tourists in search of food. Bear glanced up a few times at the hungry birds but paid them no attention. He spotted Reese a few feet away in the distance, and his tail began to wag. Reese was leaning over the railing and staring off into the distance when Harold approached. The water swayed peacefully beneath them. 

"Mr. Reese. I trust our situation is under control?"

Reese turned his attention towards Harold. "Don't worry Finch. He's not going anywhere."

"Is he—" 

"Is he still alive?" Reese interrupted. "He is for now." 

Harold didn't reply. He just stared back, unsure what to say or do next. Once again the lines of morality were blurred.

"Don't you believe me?" Reese sighed. "Come on Finch. Let's take a walk." 

They crossed the parking lot passing the few people who were out this early and stopped short of the black sedan. Reese walked over to the trunk and opened it to reveal a bound and gagged operative glaring back. Jeremy Lambert had a broken arm and a gunshot to the leg, but he was still very much alive. 

Harold's eyes grew wide at the sight. After all the violence Samaritan and its operatives had inflicted on their lives, witnessing such a scene still rattled him. He wasn't sure he would ever get used to the site of gunshots or broken bodies. "What do you plan to do with him?" Harold asked closing his mouth which he only now realized was hanging open.

"Well, that depends on you, Harold. You said you had a few questions for him, so I kept him conscious. You know he's not going to talk. They never do."

"No, I don't doubt that. Although if there's one thing I've learned through all this chaos, it's that information is often the most powerful weapon."

Reese shook his head in confusion. "What would a man like Lambert have to lose?"

"Mr. Reese if you look hard enough you can always find something of use." Harold stepped closer and leaned over the trunk. "Mr. Lambert. I have only one question I'd like to ask you."

Reese hesitated for a moment glaring into the trunk. "I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if you try anything." He narrowed his eyes before ripping the duct tape off Jeremy's mouth.

"There are more civilized ways to discuss information," Lambert replied with a calm confidence. 

"Civilized?" Reese gripped his fists tight by his side. "Is that what you'd call kidnapping and holding our friend captive?"

"Mr. Reese." Harold arched an eyebrow sending him a knowing glare and waited in silence until Reese huffed and took a step back.

"You are wasting your time." Lambert declared. "What makes you think I will answer any of your questions?" 

"Because, Mr. Lambert, I've been looking into your past, and there is one thing. One person, you value more than your own life.”

"You must be mistaken."

"I think you know I'm good at finding information. Forty-one Judd Street in London. Does that address mean anything to you?" 

Jeremey stared back in silence for long enough that Harold knew it did indeed sound familiar. "What do you want to know?" 

"The location of Samaritan's headquarters. The beating heart of the operation."

Lambert laughed before grimacing. "Is that all?" 

"You may not value your own life, but I'm willing to bet you will do whatever it takes to keep your sister safe."

"You help people. You are incapable of violence. I've been watching you. You wouldn't hurt a fly."

Reese stepped forward. "Have you been watching me too?" If you have, then you know just what I'm capable of." 

Jeremy sighed. "Fine, you want to go on a suicide mission be my guest. Samaritan will always be one step ahead. You'll never even make it inside." 

"That's none of your concern Mr. Lambert. We just need the location."

"2900 Bedford Avenue."

Reese leaned over the trunk and slammed his fist into Jeremy's face knocking him unconscious. He turned his attention back to Harold, who was still staring down at Jeremy's motionless body with a look of shock. "Do you really think we can trust him?" 

"Trust him? No, but I do believe he's telling the truth in this case," Harold replied.

"So now what? Do we tell Root we have an address? She will want to come. And Shaw?"

"I think it's best if we leave the ladies out of this for now. They have been through enough. Let's look into this location and see what information we can collect. We can't just blast our way in. We need to be strategic about this."

"I'm all for having a plan Harold, but we can't wait too long to move on this. Samaritan doesn't seem to stay in one place for long. If we have a real shot at ending this, we need to take it."

Reese closed the trunk and began to walk towards the drivers side but paused before opening the door. "You don't trust Shaw, do you?"

Harold didn't respond. Was he that transparent?

"I'm observant. It's part of the job," Reese replied as if he was reading Harold's thoughts right now.

"Do you, Mr. Reese—trust Shaw?" Can you honestly tell me that the unaccounted time hasn't raised your suspicions? I have no doubt Ms. Shaw was loyal when she arrived. I just worry about the effects eight months in captivity with Samaritan would have on any one of us." 

"It's Shaw. She's not like most people." 

"And Samaritan isn't like most captors. I think we should all be careful. You said your getaway seemed strangely uncomplicated. Doesn't that raise your suspicions slightly?"

"Luck?" Reese shrugged.

"Luck doesn't exist when an all-seeing AI is watching over us." Harold sighed. "I should be getting back. I need to feed Bear and check on the ladies. Mr. Reese if you wouldn't mind taking it from here." Harold turned to walk away with Bear at his side.

"What do you want me to do with our friend here?" Reese called out.

"Keep him alive until we verify his information is accurate."

"And after that?"

"After that, do whatever you want." Harold stared past Reese looking out over the water. The sun had made its way a little higher in the sky. It was going to be a bright clear day.  

"What, no speech about doing the right thing?"

"What would be the right thing, because I'm not sure I know the answer anymore. Not when Samaritan is involved. You can kill him, or you can let him go. It really makes no difference. This man is already dead."


	10. Chapter 10

_You can't go home again._

Shaw shut her eyes and let the words fade into the back of her mind. It was a phrase she heard several times, but only once had it struck her in a way that left a lasting impression. She remembered it vividly.

She sat at a bar in Moscow after a very long day and a close call with a terrorist cell. She almost had another gunshot wound to add to her collection. The bullet just clipped her so it didn’t count, and she kept count.

Vodka would be her drink of choice tonight because this was Russia. Visiting this bar was also the closest tourist thing she was planning to do here. Three drinks in and she was starting to feel the effects of a warm rush that slowly swept over her.

Cole sat down on the barstool beside her and smiled. She was a little surprised he left the van. He was in a mood all day, and she had no idea what caused it, but he looked like he finally managed to relax. He ordered a shot and let out a loud sigh as he sunk further into the uncomfortable seat.

“Nice to see you finally stopped sulking around. I thought you were going to miss out on all the fun. She held up another full shot and tipped it in his direction with a nod before knocking it back entirely. The liquid burned down her throat and she clenched her teeth. “What’s with you today?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Cole replied, looking down into his shot glass.

There it was. That look again. She wasn’t sure how to react when she saw Cole like this. He was usually the optimistic one. He could annoy the shit out of her sometimes, but she could always count on him to ease the tension in some high-stress situations.

Not today, though. Today he seemed distracted. He even failed to alert her when one guy was approaching from the south entrance, which was why she almost had that fresh gunshot wound.

“Fine, you don’t want to talk about it. Just make sure you get your head in the game. We leave for Bejing in six hours.” It would be a long trip with a sulking partner at her side. He was still staring at that damn shot glass. If he didn’t drink it soon, she would drink it for him. It was a shame to let alcohol just sit there like that.

“My brother’s birthday was today. He died four years ago. My mom tried to call me to talk but I just…I didn’t know what to say. With everything we’ve been doing…”

His voice trailed off. Shaw wasn’t expecting that. And she had no idea what to say in response. She paused for a moment looking into her own empty shot glass. “I’m sorry. Were you and your brother close?”

“We were. Before I left.”

“Do you need to take some time. I mean, take a couple days to—”

“No. I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“Maybe after we wrap this up you should go home. Visit your family.” Shaw tried to focus and soften her voice, but the alcohol was working against her. There were things she should say, but she was drawing a blank. Shaw looked at him again and wished he would drink. She would feel like less of an asshole if he had that drink.

“When was the last time you went home and visited family?”

Shaw narrowed her eyes. The question sobering her up almost instantly. She didn’t have a family to visit. She wasn’t even sure what city she would call home, but Cole knew this already. He was making a point. She hated when he did that. It was different for Cole, though. He had two parents that missed him.

"You can't go home again, Shaw." He held her gaze for a moment. "This is it for us." Sadness washed over his blue eyes. Sadness and understanding. A realization he had come to some time ago, even if the struggle to accept it was still etched across his face. After what they had seen and what they had done, how could they ever really go home again? How were they expected to lead ordinary lives?

The look lingered only for a moment before he blinked it away and emptied the shot glass. He gritted his teeth and slid off the bench slapping the empty glass on the wooden bar with an echoing finality that earned him an irritated glare from the bartender. Cole stumbled across the bar and into the crowd and just like that their conversation was over.

Shaw stayed and had one more drink. She didn't think much of their conversation at the time, but something about the look in his eyes remained with her. The memory etched into her mind like a photograph she would carry with her even after Cole's death.

Shaw thought about the phrase again as she sat in the abandoned subway station. The familiar glow from Harold’s computer monitors flickered off to the side. She thought about home and what that meant for someone like her. Someone who kept moving; who trusted few people and was essentially a ghost. Dead to all who had known her at one time. This place might be safe for now. They thought that about the library at one time. If their location was compromised they would have to pick up and move on, but they would find a new place…together. She took a deep breath and looked around.

_This was her home, and Shaw chose to return._

"Ms. Shaw. Are you feeling any better?" Harold approached the subway car with a small smile, although concern filled his expression every time he was near. Concern and something else…hesitance. He still doubted her loyalty.

"I'm still alive, Harold.” She shifted on one of the subway chairs and carefully removed the bandage from her arm. The wound was healing, but not fast enough.

Bear came bounding over and brushed against her leg. Shaw reached down to pet him on the head. "I missed you too buddy," she whispered. "Well, at least, the dog is happy I'm back.” There was no use pretending she hadn't overheard his conversation with Root two weeks ago. She knew where he stood.

“I think we are all happy to have you back, Ms. Shaw. Although not all of us would be brave enough to greet you with such enthusiasm,” He grinned weakly in an attempt to lighten the mood, but it didn’t work. An uneasy silence settled between them.

Shaw never thought she’d be glad to be back in this underground hideout. This place where she was held captive not so long ago. Everything seemed so different now. Their relationship was strained, but they still shared a common goal. They were still…friends.

"Where's Reese?” She asked before she could dwell on anything resembling a sentimental thought.

"Mr. Reese is out at the moment."

Both vague and cryptic. Same old Harold. “I think it's time you and I had a talk. Tell me you still have some liquor stashed around here?" Her eyes darted around the station.

Harold hesitated. “Ms. Shaw perhaps you shouldn't—"

“I haven’t had a drink for nearly eight months. Samaritan didn't exactly wine and dine me while I was away." She shuddered at the thought of her time with Greer and Samaritan's operatives.

“Well all right then.” Harold seemed to note the sudden change in her demeanor. “There's some whiskey in the back.”

She lowered her head, and he rushed away to retrieve a drink.

While Harold was out of sight, and the familiar sound of clinking glasses echoed through the subway, Shaw stepped away to check on her patient. The sleeping woman looked like she had seen better days. Root had been shot twice over the course of one day and was still scraped up. Familiar brown curls framed the bruises and cuts across her face. She looked much better than she did a week ago. Shaw tried counting the small scars that lined her arms but lost track. She stood watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Despite her rough appearance, she looked peaceful.

She worried she had put them in danger by returning. Maybe she should have left, but this was her fight too, and she needed to keep these people safe. The sleeping woman stirred, shifting her position. _I_ _guess_ _there are_ _things_   _I_ _care_ _about_ _here_. Shaw swallowed hard, and a weight sat in the pit of her stomach that she just couldn’t shake. Harold called her from the other room, and she sighed with relief. She really could use that drink.

Harold handed the glass over, and Shaw didn’t bother to sip it politely. This conversation wasn't going to be pleasant, and she spent the last couple weeks contemplating just how much information to share, but Harold needed answers. Root deserved to know everything too, but somehow talking to Harold seemed easier right now. When she thought about what she would say to Root, the words never seemed right, and Root hadn't pressed her for answers. Not yet.

"It's not the laptop you and Reese were looking for, but this might help." Shaw reached into her pocket and held out a small USB drive. Harold stared at it a moment looking puzzled before reaching out and taking the small metal object.

“What’s this?” He questioned.

"It's what The Machine wanted you to have."

He furrowed his brow and looked perplexed. "The Machine asked you to give me this?"

"The Machine made sure I gave you this. I grabbed it right before Root and Lionel made their grand entrance. We damn near died, so I guess whatever is on there must be important."

"Ms. Shaw my guess is you might not have made it out of there alive if it wasn't for their help. Don't be too harsh on Ms. Groves. Trust that they had your best interests at heart.”

 _Trust_. Shaw shook her head. ”But you don't trust me to do you, Harold?"

"Ms. Shaw I–"

"I don't blame you.” “If I were you...well...I wouldn't trust me either." She always did have trust issues.

"I have so many questions I'd like to ask."

"So many questions like was I sent here to kill you?”

"No," Harold adjusted his glasses. "I imagine if you wanted to do that you would have done so already."

"I'll tell you what I can.” Shaw looked down into the glass of amber liquid and swirled it from side to side.

“This drive…why are you giving this to me now? Why not give it to me when you arrived?” A look of skepticism flashed across his face.

"Look, I did what I was told." Shaw frowned and quickly finished the last of her drink. She thought she was ready to talk, but the way Harold looked at her and his accusing tone made her wish this conversation would end—now. She set the glass down in front of her with force glancing up to meet Harold's gaze.”You have more questions? Ask your Machine."

***

Harold diverted his attention from his computer monitor to watch Reese move across the room. He was on edge after his discussion with Ms. Shaw this afternoon. Albeit brief, she had disclosed some interesting information. Harold immediately returned to his computer to search the drive she handed over, and the information he uncovered was both terrifying and useful. ”Where’s Mr. Lambert, he asked anxiously. "Did you leave him with Detective Fusco?"

"I sent Lionel to work our latest number with Silva. I thought I mentioned that." Reese picked up a newspaper and turned it over in his hand.

“No, you did not, and I’m afraid that still doesn't answer my question, Mr. Reese."

"Don't worry Finch. I reached out to an old friend. She's good at tracking people down and keeping them in check."

"Forgive my lack of confidence but this situation is delicate, to say the least."

"I thought we moved past our trust issues, Harold."

"It's not you I have an issue with, Mr. Reese. Dare I ask which friend?"

"You remember Frankie?"

"The bounty hunter you spent half the day handcuffed to while you made your way across the city. How could I forget.” Harold recalled their awkward and unexpected introduction at his safe house.

"Frankie's the kind of girl that can take care of herself." Reese continued to pace around the room shuffling papers, and Harold held back the urge to tell him to sit down.

"Be that as it may, this is a Samaritan operative. You are placing her in a dangerous situation."

"We are short-handed Finch. We have to be willing to trust someone."

"And exactly what information did you disclose to Ms. Wells?"

"Only what she needed to know. She’s okay. She's somewhere safe, and we're..." He cleared his throat. "You're paying her a lot of money to handle this quietly."

Harold sighed and stood up from his desk. He didn't like this. Involving innocent people. They tried to avoid these situations for a reason.

"Finch where are you going?" Reese asked with concern. "Don't worry about Frankie. I'll keep a close eye on her."

"I bet you will, Root smirked and entered the subway car with a laptop under her arm. She sat down and raised an eyebrow. "What? I needed a change of scenery."

Harold wondered just how much of their conversation Ms. Groves had overheard. "I'm taking Bear for a walk," he announced. He could use a cup of Sencha green tea and fresh air to clear his head. It seemed for every step forward they took, they ended up two steps back.

Reese sighed glancing over at Root, who had opened her laptop and was no longer paying them any attention. "I'll come with you, Harold."

***

Martine entered the control room and paused beside Greer. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as the light from the white screen illuminated his face.

“Have you identified Lambert’s location yet?” Greer asked keeping his gaze focused on the commands flashing across the screen.

"No Sir. Still no response."

"Very well then. Another casualty of war."

"What if he turns up?” Martine cocked her head toward Greer and waited for confirmation. She already knew the answer.

"Then we have to assume he's been compromised. You know the procedure."

"Yes, sir. I'll handle the matter personally.”

"I have no doubt you will,” Greer replied, and grinned over at her.

“Are we still on track with our plan?” With the recent…setbacks Martine wanted to be sure.

“Patience my dear. We knew they were good at hiding, but they can’t avoid detection forever.”

"But sir, shouldn't we be able to identify her location. It's been two weeks and still...nothing. How is that possible?"

“You and I both know the world isn’t what it seems. Anything is possible.”

Martine stood expressionless. She was used to the old man talking in riddles by now. Just once a blunt answer would be appreciated. She just hoped Lambert decided to make an appearance soon so she would finally have a reason to fire her gun.

***

“Harold, What's your interest in Brooklyn college?” Root asked the moment Harold set foot inside the subway. She could tell the question caught him off guard.

“Just looking into a possible lead.”

“Regarding Samaritan?”

Finch glanced back at Reese, who had just joined them, looking like he wished he hadn’t returned.

“Whats going on Harold?”

“We received some…information.” He opened his mouth to speak again but hesitated.

"You received some information? From where? Were you planning to share that with the rest of us?”

Harold looked up warily from Root over to Shaw and then back with an uneasy glance. "Eventually."

Root closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. It all made sense now. “Really Harold.” She slammed her laptop shut with a little too much force and hoped she hadn’t done any real damage. “What? We’ve divided into two teams now?” Her voice grew louder, and before she knew it, she was on her feet grabbing her jacket and searching for her laptop case.

"Ms. Groves, where are you going?"

"To do some research of my own.” Root’s eyes flickered black as a sudden rush of rage overwhelmed her. Her shoulders tensed, and she was one unfocused breath away from throwing her laptop across the room.

“Wait," Shaw called out. "I'm coming with you."

Root shot one final disapproving glare at Harold before exiting the room.

Once out of earshot Shaw grasped onto Root's arm to slow her. "So you want to tell me where we are going?"

"My apartment. I don't know where Harold got his information, but I'm going to see what I can find out and then we are going to do some on-site recon."

"Oh, I like the sound of that. All this sitting around and waiting is getting old. I say we finish this."

Root stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face Shaw. "Information and research, Sameen. We are still in no condition to take down Samaritan." If she could keep Shaw safe…just a little longer.

Shaw shook her head. "Well then don't you think we should just talk to Finch and see what he already knows?"

Root looked down at her with conviction. “No.” She began to move again at an increasing speed. Harold didn't trust Shaw and by extension, he didn't trust her. She was furious. They would have to get past this eventually and work together. She knew that was their only option, but right now she needed to get out of this place.

Root pushed the door open and stumbled back as the natural daylight flooded her vision. She blinked into the blinding light and wished they had this argument during the night. At least, her abrupt exit would have been less…unexpected. Noise flooded her ears. The sights and sounds of the city they had been isolated from for far too long were mere steps away.

After taking a few moments for her eyes to adjust, Root bolted into the nearest alley with Shaw by her side and continued to move along the side streets. She instinctively following the shadow map, most routes she had memorized some time ago.

“I didn't know those coordinates on that note would lead you to my location,” Shaw spoke under her breath.

Root glanced over at her surprised by her sudden conversation topic. Surprised by the fact that she had chose to talk at all. “Sameen, we don’t have to discuss this right now.”

“Well, I know that,” Shaw stated, matter-of-factly.

“What did you think they were for? The coordinates.”

Shaw paused, stopping for a moment and Root had to backtrack nearly leaving her behind in her haste. "I don't know but why would The Machine put your life in danger. I thought she was looking out for you. I thought The Machine had your back.”

“She was looking out for you too. You needed our help. You can yell at me for going against your request to stay away, but I'm not sorry.” Root looked around in all directions. It was quiet. Too quiet. “You can't do everything alone. Not this.”

A man passed the far end of the alley dressed in a black suit. She must be imagining things. Or was she? Cleary she wasn’t because a moment later a black sedan arrived, blocking their path.“They found us.”

Shaw was well aware of this also. She glanced from agent to vehicle with a look of concentration as if surveying their next move. “They must be tracking us…or me.”

“We can't go back to the subway.”

“We need to get invisible fast, Shaw reached for her gun and passed it over to Root while she dialed her cell phone and waited.

***

“Ms. Shaw?” Harold already sounded worried.

“Harold, we have a little problem. Where’s your nearest safe house?”

“You’re not too far away from the Coronet hotel. I happen to own the building so I can control the surveillance.”

“Finch, you own a hotel?” Shaw asked as they sped into the nearest clear side street and ducked into the shadows. Two armed agents passed.

“I've said it before, hotels are one of the last few places where people can preserve their anonymity. The ideal location for a safe house in the city.”

“Sure Harold.” Shaw was only half paying attention as she focused on staying alive long enough to make it to this hotel.

“When you arrive ask for Mira Dobrica, the hotel manager. I’ll make sure she’s expecting you.”

“Harold, any idea how they are tracking us? We barely set foot out of the subway.”

“My guess? They implanted a device somewhere. If that's the case, whatever it is was undetectable by the scanners I used on you when you first arrived.”

“You what?”

“You were asleep. Forgive me but I had to take certain…precautions."

“Yeah? What other precautions did you take Finch?” She pinched her brow and paused waiting for a response.

“Sameen, we need to keep moving.” Root scanned the alley grabbing Shaw by the arm, but she pulled away from the unexpected contact. There was no time to consider what that meant or why she had been so damn jumpy.

“If this is something your scanner whatever device couldn't pick up how are we supposed to know if they implanted something?”

“It might take awhile, but you'll have to check for a small scar or a raised indention in the skin.”

Shaw rolled her eyes at the idea. Between the two of them they had more scars than they could count. How long would it take to find some sort of high tech Samaritan tracking device that even Finch failed to notice? She would figure that out soon enough but right now there was no time. They had to keep moving.


	11. Chapter 11

"Mira Dobrica. Do you know where I can find her?" The words rushed from Root's mouth between inhales as she tried to steady her breath and regain control after sprinting the remaining seven blocks to the Coronet hotel. She failed to hide the urgency from her voice, and her eyes pleaded with the man behind the desk. 

He smiled politely in the same way she imagined he smiled at every other guest checking in. "One moment please," he said, picking up the receiver and dialing the phone with a steady hand. 

Harold alerted Mira already, but Root wasn't about to stand around pacing the floor. They were sitting ducks here. She glanced towards the large window where Shaw stood, focused on the street, ready and waiting. At some point, Shaw had tucked her gun away to avoid causing a scene, but the woman’s hand instinctively hovered near the weapon, quick to set it free at the first sign of danger. 

"She's on her way,” the concierge spoke, and Root returned her focus to the man in front of her. She nodded, relieved the message had been relayed, but the tension failed to leave her body. 

The quiet hotel lobby left her uneasy. A woman tugged at a small child who decided to sit in the middle of the floor and flip through a picture book. An older couple sat on a bench bickering in hushed voices; something about street parking and getting a ticket. 

Where were the operatives? Where was the gunfire and chaos that would inevitably follow? The bleeding bodies and screams of innocent bystanders caught in the middle of a silent war. A war they seemed to be losing with each passing day.  

She scanned the room, taking in every sight and sound while noting the exits. Anything that might aid in an escape if all hell broke loose. This had become standard practice that some might consider paranoia, but she deemed a necessity. 

Several sparkling chandeliers hung high above from the arched ceiling, causing the gold-flecked floor to shine and the colors of cut crystals to illuminate the patterned walls. The sight offered almost enough distraction to avert Root's gaze from a nearby camera. She watched the small red light flash in rhythmic pulses and knew Samaritan could see everything. A God always watched. 

“You must be Harold's friend. Please follow me.” Mira’s soft voice cut through Root’s thoughts. The shorter woman seemed to appear out of nowhere with kind eyes and a warm smile. There was something oddly calming about her presence. A wave of relief passed over Root when Mira wasted no time with pleasantries, hurrying her out of the lobby and down a corridor towards the elevators.

She glanced over towards Shaw, and their expression seemed to convey the same sentiment without words. A silent prayer of hope that they might make it out of here unharmed. She doubted they would survive another fight right now. 

A sharp pain traveled through Root's side, and she shifted positions trying to lessen the sensation. She focused her attention on the bright elevator lights but hadn't failed to notice the way Shaw's shoulders slumped back in exhaustion. They needed a safe place to escape; a brief moment to catch their breath. She knew anything more was a luxury they wouldn’t be granted until after Samaritan’s destruction.

Root arched a brow and was filled with a new sense of appreciation for Harold’s paranoia, despite the fact that she was still furious with the man. She tried to leave her thoughts of Harold's betrayal behind, for now at least, as she stepped inside the spacious hotel room.

“Bulletproof glass,” Shaw remarked while tapping on the window. 

The monitors that sat on top of the small mahogany desk displaying surveillance footage instantly caught Root's attention. Her focus darted from one camera’s view over to the next. Street corners, hotel rooms, and the lobby entrance were all on display. She inhaled deeper knowing they could at least see any approaching threats.  

A drawer slammed shut, and Root jerked her head toward the sound. Shaw held up a gun and a box of extra ammunition. “Not like Harold to keep guns stocked, I bet this is left from one of Reese’s visits.” Shaw placed the gun on the nightstand and removed the cell phone from her pocket. “We're in Finch. Now you want to tell me what I'm supposed to be looking for? We have enough problems without Samaritan tracking our every move."

"Samaritan can see us even without a tracking device, Sameen. Their agents are everywhere."

"Well, I'm not about to make this any easier for them."

"The corners of Root's lips curled into a smirk. "I knew you would come back to us...to me." 

"Can we just focus?"

Root started to take a step forward, towards Shaw, but her body stiffened, and her smirk faded into hard lines set deep in concentration. "I can hear you,” she murmured.

"Root? What is it?" Shaw glanced over, searching for an answer to her question, but she didn't ask again and remained silent waiting for a response.   

“She says I’m clear." No device detected." 

"You’re clear. What about me?"

“She doesn’t know.” Her voice came out as a quiet whisper and Root’s stomach sunk at the sound of her own words. She wanted to erase the past eight months altogether.

Shaw let out a long sigh, and Root could see the uncertainty on her face, so slight that most might miss it entirely. "Just let me know if any unwelcome visitors arrive," Shaw motioned at the surveillance footage. "I’ll go look for this chip.” 

***

Bright light flooded the pristine white bathroom and illuminated every line and scar across Shaw's skin. With a deep inhale she locked on her own reflection. She avoided all mirrors since her return. The thought of what she might see reflected back gave her reason enough to stay away. She blinked through heavy eyelids with dark circles that sunk deeper into her skull. The unsettling sight caused her to look away. Was this what the others saw when they looked at her? Was this what Root saw?

Shaw knew the exhaustion was temporary. The pain that seemed to wrap its way around every bone and travel through all the muscles in her body would also fade in time. But the nightmares and inevitable casualties because she couldn’t find a way to stop Samaritan —that would be permanent. 

This room offered a temporary escape, away from Root’s piercing stare. The brunettes eye’s continually searched, studied her, with so many questions hot on her tongue but never quite reaching the surface.

She swallowed and returned her attention to the task. Starting from the end of one arm she slowly studied every inch of skin, pausing on each scar. Each mark had a memory—a story Shaw wanted to forget. 

A few spots remained out of reach so once her clothes were back in place she called for Root who appeared only a moment later. The woman stopped at the doorway leaning against the frame while her fingers picked at the hem of her shirt.

"Could you...” Shaw hadn’t finished asking her question before Root gave a small, weary smile and took a step closer. She stood at Shaw’s back extending a shaky hand but paused before her fingertips made contact. Root appeared uneasy like Shaw might break, and truthfully she might. 

Shaw looked into the mirror and saw Root fixed on her, waiting for some sort of sign or permission to proceed. Shaw barely nodded, but it was confirmation enough. Root slowly and carefully allowed her hands to trail the back of Shaw’s neck. The gentle touch caused Shaw’s breath to hitch, and she focused on the tile floor attempting to steady herself. When was the last contact she had that didn’t result in blood or death? 

An exhale of warmth brushed across Shaw's skin as Root leaned closer, studying the remaining unseen surfaces. Root paused on a small raised scar that Shaw wasn’t aware existed, and her eyes widened at the realization. “I think this is it. It’s square, not irregular like the other scars.” 

A sigh of relief escaped Shaw’s mouth as she passed the knife resting on the kitchen sink over to Root. “Now cut the damn thing out.”

“This might hurt a little.” 

Shaw almost laughed. The incision stung, but only for a moment. Nothing like the pain she had grown accustomed to. Before she knew it, Root filled a glass of water near the sink and submerged the small foreign object. The chip drifted towards the bottom. 

Shaw took only a moment to look over the item that lived inside her before setting it down and grabbing a bandage from the cabinet. Root brushed a few stray hairs from Shaw's neck before dressing the wound. 

"This is my fault," Shaw grumbled. 

"This isn't your fault, Sameen." 

"Oh yeah? I'm the one with that damn tracking device leading them right to us. How is this not my fault?"

"You..." Root lowered her voice to a whisper, "You couldn't have known."

"I should have known. Of course, I would be branded before they let me escape."

“Let you escape?” 

“What, don't you think that getaway was a little too convenient? We both know we should be dead right now.”

Root must have known, but she seemed to be letting the realization sink in. She stayed chewing at her lip until she grabbed hold of Shaw’s wrist and took a few steps closer whispering in her ear. “Samaritan might be a god, but the operatives that held you captive are human. People make mistakes. Whatever their plan, we are alive, and we are going to stay alive.” 

Shaw turned until their eyes were locked. She could let her guard down in this confined space. Maybe even let someone in...let Root in. Everything seemed so dark in her mind. In some ways, the two of them couldn't be more different, but they were both standing in the dark now. They were drowning in it. Maybe this was better than standing alone?

Shaw braced her hands on the sink edges gripping so tight that for a moment everything else slipped out of focus, and only the touch of cold solid porcelain remained. Suddenly Greer's raspy voice echoed through her head. She was right back in that unrelenting room where time seemed to stand still, but Shaw heard another voice—Root’s voice—strong and determined. Echoing words of reassurance. The voice in her head wasn't real, but the sound was the only light guiding her through some of the darkest days. 

Every quiet moment brimmed with tension and uncertainty. Shaw should move away, yet she found herself leaning forward, pausing before she got close enough to feel the heat she was certain radiated from Root's skin. 

Shaw said nothing, afraid her voice would betray her. Instead, she allowed the warm touch of Root's grip to loosen on her wrist. Fingertips made contact, then, the pull seemingly too much, and she ghosted them over Shaw’s shoulder, tracing the slightly raised scars once again. There were so many scars. Her fingers traveled down the exposed skin on her arm and paused at the point where Shaw’s pants hugged tightly around her hips. An electrifying sensation surged through her body.

Root titled her head, and her somber expression carried the weight of the world along with something else. Sadness? Fear? Shaw couldn't help wonder what thoughts raced through the other woman's head.  

"What?" The one word managed to fall from Shaw's mouth. They held each other's gaze, and Root searched her with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. A quiet alarm began to sound in Shaw's head, slow and steady, growing louder.

Shaw didn't know if they would survive this war. There was no guarantee they would survive this day. Some sentiments would never be easy to express but now seemed like a good enough time as any to try. "I'm not going anywhere. I came back so we could finish this...together.” Her throat suddenly burned through the dry emptiness where words should escape, and she swallowed hard, pushing out the last of her thoughts before she could change her mind. “I need you.”

Those few words seemed to fire from Shaw’s mouth and hit the other woman like a bullet. Root’s eyes were as alive as Shaw had seen them since her return, her chest heaving in each breath as she tried to control her emotions. She exhaled into a grin before taking a step back and leaning against the wall.

Shaw watched as the brunette’s tongue slipped out over her bottom lip, and suddenly she couldn’t decide if she wanted to take another step forward or escape from this room before this spark of heat ignited and they were both consumed by flames. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe that was exactly what they both needed.

The phone in Shaw’s back pocket began vibrating with forceful determination and she let out a muffled grumble. She fought the urge to reach into her pocket and turn it off, but Shaw knew that was a bad idea. “I should answer." She held the phone out clearing her throat.

Shaw failed to hide the frustration from her voice as she spoke in a sharp tone. “Yeah, Finch?”

***

The light knock on the front door caused Frankie Wells to grab her gun from the side table. A girl can never be too careful. She flicked off the safety with her thumb and climbed out of the armchair where she sat for the last forty minutes. Frankie knew who was at the door, but she had been wrong once before and never made the same mistake twice. 

Through the peephole, she could see the tall shadowy outline of Detective Riley with a grinning Lionel Fusco by his side. Her lips twitched in amusement as she opened the door just a crack.

“You're late."

"Traffic." Riley offered with an innocent shrug, but Frankie knew this man was far from innocent, and she doubted he ever waited in traffic. 

“I see you brought your better half along.” She glanced in Lionel's direction, and his cheeks flushed an intense shade of red. 

"So, are you going to let us in?” 

She had half a mind to slam the door in his face. Instead, she huffed and stepped aside,  allowing them to enter. “It's good to see you, Lionel."

“Likewise,” Lionel replied with a nod as he followed John into the dark living room. “Someone forget to pay the electricity bill?”

“I like the dark. Helps me clear my head." 

“Is our guest on his best behavior?” John asked, getting straight to the point. He studied the room, lingering on the empty beer bottles littering the coffee table a little too long before Frankie shuffled them both down the hall.

“Oh yeah. He’s a real angel. Charming even. He doesn’t seem that dangerous.”

“Don’t underestimate this man. He’s a killer and the worst kind.”

“Okay, okay. I’m a professional you know. You trusted me with this so give me some credit here.” Frankie pulled a key from her back pocket and with a click she slid the padlock from the door at the end of the hall. 

This wasn’t her apartment. Riley had thrown a large sum of cash and a well-dressed Brit at her and told her to keep a close eye on him. The task seemed simple enough. All she had to do was babysit this guy for a week. She wondered if they did this sort of thing often. This place had its own personal jail cell built in, soundproof with a reinforced door, so she already knew the answer to her question. 

The room shone brighter than the rest of the apartment, even though it was a small windowless space. On the floor in the center of the room, a man sat slumped over with his back to the doorway. His head bobbed slightly offering the only indication of life.

"Lambert?" John called, but the man made no attempt to move. 

John glanced over at Lionel, who shrugged and pulled his weapon taking a step closer. “Hey, what's the matter? You suddenly forget your name?"

"This is ridiculous." Frankie rolled her eyes and stormed into the room placing an arm on Lambert's shoulder and giving him a firm nudge. "Come on. Get up."

"Frankie no—"  John shouted, but it was already too late. Frankie was flat on her back. She couldn't be sure how the hell it happened. Lambert knelt beside her gripping the gun she had tucked in her waistband only a moment ago.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

Her head throbbed from swift contact with solid ground. Lambert tugged at her arm, pulling her up and pressing the gun firm into her temple. She looked from Riley to Fusco. This was not going well.

"Lambert..." Riley glared with his weapon pointed towards the man. Frankie knew he didn’t have a clean shot, or he would have taken it by now. "You don't want to do this." 

"Do you really think I'm going to take advice from you? After you had me locked away?” Lambert grinned at Frankie. “I haven’t seen you before love. John,  have you enlisted new recruits to die for your cause?

"Shoot her, and you're dead," Lionel growled.

"Well that doesn't sound pleasant for anyone," Lambert replied. 

Lambert's arm gripped tight around Frankie’s neck and shoulders. Her fingers clawed and scratched at anything she came into contact with. He held a gun to her head. He used her as a human shield to aid in his escape. That's what was happening. This situation was dangerous, the life-threatening kind of danger, but she was a fighter. 

The moment the grip around her neck loosened, she turned to knee him in the side. He grumbled and staggered back. There was a deafening boom as his gun discharged and then everything became a blur or shapes and sounds.

Frankie heard faint shouts and caught a glimpse of Riley rushing down the hall. Doors slammed. Gunshots were fired. She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but she was convinced she passed out for a few minutes. Lionel peered down and shook her arm. “You okay. Hey, Frankie.” 

She shut her eyes tight for a moment as a wave of nausea swept over her, but she fought back, struggling to stay awake until she could focus on Lionel's features and his words became clear. 

John rushed in. His gun still out, and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Lionel, get her to a hospital." 

"He’s still alive? Aren’t you going to go after him?" Lionel scrunched his face. "Isn’t he going to go back to wherever he came from and warn those other guys? Speaking of which, it's about time you told me what the hell is going on don't you think?"

"Probably not." John brushed off his suit. "He’s been compromised. He’s as good as dead Lionel. And don't make me tell you again, you are better off—"

"I'm better off not knowing the truth. You're like a broken record."

"Well...if you don't want to hear the same answer you should probably stop asking the same question."

"Don't think I'm gonna let this go.”

“Sure,” John said with a groan. “We can talk about this later, just go bring the car around.” Lionel sent him one last irritated glare before disappearing out the front door.

"I'm fine," Frankie croaked, unable to steady her voice between the sharp inhales of breath she sucked in while gripping her side. This wasn't her first gunshot wound, and she could take care of herself. Besides, this wasn't so bad. She made a feeble attempt to stand and clenched her teeth collapsing back to the ground. "I’ll track him down."

John smiled and bent down beside her. "You're going to the hospital and then back home. This job is over."

"What? No! I can bring him back."

"He’s a ghost. You will never find him. I told you not to underestimate that man."

Maybe she had underestimated the guy, but she wasn't about to admit that to Riley. Not a chance. Lambert made her look like a fool. Heat flushed through her body, and she had even more incentive to find this guy. 

“Frankie. I’m serious. Let this one go.” 

She winced and fought the urge to black out completely. Riley gave her this job. A paid job and she fucked it up. Letting this go wasn’t an option.

***

Root closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled, pushing her back against the wall and looking up towards the ceiling. Those few words exchanged between them were enough to send her heart pounding beneath her chest. Shaw came back. Shaw needed her. She felt the muscles in her body involuntarily tense and then relax as a shiver ran through her, starting at the base of her spine and settling in the pit of her stomach.

Root took another deep breath and hoped they would have the chance to finish what they started. If only Harold hadn't interrupted. She had yet another reason to be angry, but anger would have to wait, and so would her conversation with Shaw. First, there was something Root needed to do. If she didn’t do it now, she might not get another chance. 

Shaw leaned over the desk, watching the monitors. “Harold confirmed, no ones out there. I don’t get it,” she said perplexed. “They were right behind us. Why would they just disappear?”

“Do you really believe they are gone?”

"No. The area is clear, but I’m sure they are watching."

“Samaritan is always watching.” Root grabbed her jacket and one of the extra guns from the night stand.

“Wait. Where do you think you're going?”

“I’m sticking to the plan. There's something I need to get from my apartment," Root said with determination, and she was relieved to hear the words come out in a steady tone.

“What. No. We should stay put. You just said you don’t believe they are actually gone. Besides, if anything we should go back to the subway.”

“Look Sameen, they already know we are here. We have to leave sometime. The longer we wait, the more time we give them to figure out a way inside. We should move. If you want to go back to the subway, I won't stop you, but I have to do this.”

Shaw pinned Root with a glare, “You want to at least tell me what the hell you need to get that is worth risking your life?”

“Something I wasn’t sure I needed…until now.”

“Could you be any more vague?” Shaw shook her head and let out a heavy sigh. She paused and looked out the window with her gun firm in her hand. 

Root took comfort in the way Shaw's eyes narrowed in concentration and for a moment all the pain from the last eight months disappeared, like waking up from a nightmare. Right now they were just Root and Shaw, the four-alarm fire working together.

"Fine don't tell me," Shaw resigned, "but whatever it is I hope it's worth the trouble.”

Root took a deep breath. She hoped so too.


	12. Chapter 12

"Wait here." Root turned the key in her apartment door and flipped the light switch. She wasn't sure what she expected to see when she entered, but the room appeared untouched since her last visit; still as vacant and uninviting as she remembered. It seemed like a lifetime had passed since she last set foot in this place. 

They ended up walking most of the way while battling a fierce wind that swept through the city streets driving most pedestrians indoors and off the sidewalks. A light rain began to fall just as they turned on South 2nd Street and erupted into a steady downpour seconds after they arrived. 

Root had good reason to worry about the state of her apartment, but she wouldn't dwell on that now. Everything seemed to be in place. She brushed her damp hair to the side and headed to the kitchen. The overhead cabinet creaked as she swung the door open, shoving aside a few plates until her fingers grazed the edges of a nylon bag stashed near the back. A wave of relief rushed over her. "It's clear," she called out, surprised that Shaw had actually listened, and waited in the hall. 

Shaw pushed past her with her gun still in hand and sat on the sofa, sinking back into the cushions with a deep sigh. "Nice place. What did you rob a bank or something?" Shaw remarked, looking around the room. 

"Some cover identities have their perks." Root shrugged and decided now probably wasn't the best time to talk about her recent stint at a money laundering casino. She leaned against the counter for a moment observing the way Shaw struggled to keep her eyes open more than halfway. Maybe they should have stayed in Harold's hotel a little longer. At least the bulletproof glass and steel door would have provided a certain level of security while they got some much-needed rest. Still, Root couldn't shake the feeling that they arrived here just in time. "You should sleep. I'll keep watch."

"I'm fine," Shaw mumbled.

"Shaw—" 

"It's not safe here."

"It's not safe anywhere." There was only one place left in this city that remained out of Samaritan's reach...for now. "Tomorrow we can go back to the subway, and I will talk to Harold."

Shaw tucked one of the decorative pillows behind her neck, giving it a few light punches until she seemed to find a comfortable position. “Good, you and Finch should work together." She cleared her throat and stared off into the distance. "I should probably tell you something."

"Tell me what?"

Shaw looked small as she fidgeted with the frayed edge of the pillow, remaining silent. Root's curiosity was peaked as she watched the woman in front of her struggle to speak. 

"Sameen?"

"I gave Harold something. A USB drive." Shaw sat up, her shoulders stiff and she looked like she was bracing herself for Root's reaction. "The Machine wanted me to give it to Harold," she added as if that was somehow a valid excuse for withholding this information. As if this would somehow lessen the sting of betrayal. That's what this felt like— _a betrayal_. 

She didn't need this—not now. Not from Shaw. There was enough uncertainty amongst them. "Wait..." Root paused for a moment closing her eyes before continuing. "Why didn't you tell me about this sooner? What was on it?"

"I don't know."

"Something about Brooklyn College?" She was trying to work out a puzzle with far too many missing pieces. The heat that flushed through her body and pounded in her head wasn't helping her focus. 

Shaw's expression was unreadable which only fueled Root's anger. The silence settled between them allowing the full force of Shaw's confession to settle in, causing her stomach to clench. She tried to even her breath and wanted to understand why Shaw would keep this from her after everything they had been through, but right now all rational theories escaped her, and she gripped her fists by her side. "Look at me," Root finally huffed out.

To Root's surprise, Shaw stood up to face her taking a step closer. She kept silent, though her stare was penetrating and as hard as the line of her jaw.

"Well? Say _something_."

"This wasn't about you," Shaw replied quietly. "What are we even doing here?" She looked around the room again shaking her head. "We should have gone back to the subway."

"No one forced you to come here." A tinge of pain shot through Root's chest, and she couldn't hold the war inside anymore. Shaw shared this information with Harold, the man who had given up his search months ago—the man who even now second-guessed her motives. Hurt and anger, mixed with exhaustion battled inside her, ready to erupt; she might explode if she didn't let it all out.

"Root—"

"Don't." Root shoved the magazine into her gun before storming across the room.

"You're not seriously leaving right now?" 

At that moment Shaw raced towards the hacker until she circled around to face her once again. Shaw grabbed her arm spinning her around and knocking her off balance until they both stepped back forcing Root against the wall. Shaw searched her eyes as if she was trying to decide what was coming next, but Root wasn't even sure. She considered punching, screaming, or breaking down into a flood of tears that she struggled to hold back. Whatever happened next, one thing was apparent, Shaw wasn't letting her leave this apartment. 

"Listen," Shaw's jaw clenched and worked back and forth for a moment before she continued in a steady voice. "We are in this together." She kept her grasp firm. "I'll tie you up if I have to, but I'm not letting you leave—not like this. You'll get yourself killed."

"Get out of my way," Root hissed as she stared into Shaw's unblinking eyes.

"No. You should trust the Machine, _and_ me. Would you have even found me if it wasn't for the Machine's help? Did you even look for me?"

It was a low blow. Root's entire body tensed from anger at the woman in front of her, the frustration of the betrayal that made her head spin, and another powerful emotion she was actively trying to ignore. 

Shaw's calm demeanor in even the most life-threatening situations was something Root usually respected. Tonight her neutral expression crept under Root's skin, and all she wanted to do was tear down the wall around her and watch it crumble to the ground.

Her hand clasped Shaw's neck trying to force her away. Shaw tugged at her wrist, but the sensations consuming Root gave her the strength to hold her grip. Shaw's gaze bore into hers, softer now, no longer indifferent.

"Get off me," Root growled once more, but her voice was much less convincing as tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill out. 

Shaw took a quick, shallow breath through Root's tight hold. She seemed to struggle, for air or for words, before relaxing her hold on Root's wrist and whispering, "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Something seemed to shift in the small space between them, and Root's hand moved swiftly from Shaw's throat to the back of her neck, drawing her forward, and closing the remaining space between them. Root could hear her heartbeat drumming in her ears as their lips crashed together. The kiss was urgent, everything but gentle, tinged with all the passion swimming inside. 

This was dangerous, Root thought, this was everything she wanted and everything she was terrified of losing. It had lasted only a few heated moments before Shaw pulled back, gasping for air. Root moved forward with her, barely giving her time to recover before she was pinning her against the hard edge of the kitchen table and her desperate mouth.

Desire had driven Root for months on end, and there was no denying this was what she wanted. Root's hands clutched the edges of Shaw's shirt, tearing the fabric, and bringing her close. There was no coming up for air, no stopping to search each other's eyes. Shaw needed this as much as she did.

Root's hands strayed to roam under the hem of Shaw's shirt, touching the warm skin along her back and dragging her nails down the length of her spine. Shaw paused and scolded herself for the deep groan she failed to contain. The sound sparked a throbbing sensation at Root's center. She wanted more— _needed_ more. 

Hands tangled through hair, and a battle between them played out as they both fought for control. Shaw's bruising mouth sucked at the soft skin along Root's neck. She had spun Root around, and pushed her harder into the table, lifting her onto the solid surface. An empty coffee mug crashed to the ground with a thunderous echo, scattering ceramic shards across the floor.

The sudden noise made them both aware of what was happening, but the pause only lasted a second. Root quickly reclaimed Shaw's lips while tugging at her waistband, pulling her closer and grinning against her mouth. The contrast between the cold table under her body and Shaw's hot friction between her thighs and abdomen was overwhelming.

Shaw yanked Root's shirt off and tossed it carelessly to the side. Her fingers lightly ghosted over Root's healing injury, the skin still crimson and swollen. The gunshot wound Shaw had inflicted. She pulled away, lips parted, eyes glazed, breathing heavily into the small space between them. "Does it hurt?" Shaw asked in a voice so hushed that Root had to lean into the sound. 

The question caught her off guard, and so did Shaw's concern, dark and pleading that flickered within her eyes, hidden so far below the surface that it was reserved for Root alone. Instead of answering, she closed the gap and kissed Shaw again. It was messy; too much fire and not enough air, but words would only ruin this moment. 

Shaw unbuttoned Root's pants, tugging them off and slipping two fingers inside. The contact pulled a raspy groan deep from within her throat. Their movements became quick and rough as Root shuddered, clutching onto Shaw's neck and grasping at her waist like she might come undone any second. The perfect combination of pain and pleasure. It was enough to push Root right to the edge but not quite send her toppling over.

Root tried to ignore the scars along Shaw’s skin that her hands moved past. The image of Shaw's expression when she realized Samaritan had branded her with a tracking device flashed before her eyes. Root wondered if Samaritan had left her with any other parting gifts and tried to forget the way Shaw flinched with every unexpected touch. She let these thoughts fade to the back of her mind. Shaw wasn't flinching now. Root pulled their bodies flush, thinking that she'd never get Shaw close enough, but that wouldn't stop her from trying. She exhaled "Sameen," against Shaw's lips and squeezed her thighs tightly around the woman's waist, demanding more. Shaw responded to Root’s pleas by increasing her movements, burying her fingers deeper.

Months of frustration stirred below the surface, begging to be released. All the muscles in her thighs and abs tensed and quivered, as she contracted against Shaw's fingers, hitting her in the spot that turned her moans into one long, high-pitched release. Root bit her lip when she came; hard enough to break the skin and the faint taste of blood mingled with lingering warmth left her dizzy and breathless.

They stayed like this, lost in the moment. A moment Root wasn't sure would ever arrive. She had hoped, but hope had become a scarce commodity. Root wasn't proud of the things she had done, but she wouldn't hesitate to do it all again, to find Shaw.

Root's hot breath washed over the crook of Shaw's neck where she buried her head and breathed in her scent—a hint of gunpowder, sweat, and life. _Shaw is alive._ She exhaled and felt weightless as Shaw's body pressed against her own like a warm haven. Root knew that everything she sacrificed—all those sleepless nights she spent searching until her body ached from exhaustion—it was all worth it. 

"Sameen, I _never_ stopped looking for you." Root whispered.

"I know."

***

_There is no light here. Shaw's head throbs. It pounds with such intensity that she can see a white spark when she closes her eyes. Whispered voices in the distance are barely audible, and a shadow crosses the room, but it's too dark to make out the details. She struggles to stand and realizes her hands and legs are bound to a chair. The scent of blood and death permeates the air around her. She lets her head sway, and it takes her a moment to remember where she is. Everything hurts, and when she sees the operative step out of the shadows, she remembers why._

_Martine asks the same questions. She asks and waits with eyes as dark as the black gun that hangs at her side. Another shadowy figure is present, lingering in the background and Shaw thinks it's probably Greer. Martine asks again, "she speaks to the Machine. Tell me the location? She trusts you with this information—cares about you." Martine laughs. "You must know."_

_Shaw stays silent. She closes her eyes and sees Root's face. The vibrant look Root gets when she speaks to the Machine flashes into focus—so alive and confident. Shaw will do whatever it takes to keep Root alive._

_The concrete beneath her seems to soften like quicksand swallowing her along with the chair that's holding her captive. Suddenly she's struggling in a sea of black water that pulls the air from her lungs. Her hands and feet are no longer restrained, and she fights to break the surface. When she reaches the top she gasps. The water is dense as she wades through. Thick and inky. She battles against the resistance and makes her way to land. Fog fills the sky around her making it impossible to see. Her arms are outstretched, trying to guide her through this haze, and she notices the blood on her fingers, but she no longer feels any pain. Not like before. It's not her blood._

_She starts to move, increasing her speed with each step until she hears a familiar voice call out only once. White mist whirls around her through ominous silence and Root fades in and out of focus. She attempts to take a step forward, but her feet feel heavy like anchors cemented to the ground. She looks out and knows what's coming before it happens, but she's helpless. Frozen. She hears the shot and watches Root clutch her chest._

_The fog breaks and they are standing inside an old ornate structure. It looks like a church, although Shaw can't be sure. She sees the anguish and fear fill Root's eyes before she falls to her knees._

_It's a church. The large arched room is almost empty. She recognizes Harold, Reese, and Lionel. They sit looking down with sorrow filled expressions. Shaw's pulse quickens and she thinks she shouts, but no sound escapes. Silence consumes them, and no one moves. No one looks up._

_Her legs are no longer held down, and once she realizes she can move, she rushes towards Root and clutches her wound. Blood is everywhere. "No—no—no—no," she repeats these words out loud or in her head, she can't be sure. Nothing makes sense right now, as she pulls Root close pressing their foreheads together. The warmth begins to leave her body. A weight pushes on Shaw's chest. She can't fix this. She can't save her. Her face is wet, and she doesn't know if the damp tears are from her or Root, but it doesn't matter. Samaritan has already won._

_It's dark again._

_Shaw feels the stiff ropes tighten around her wrists and Martine is speaking in a severe tone. The pain has returned, and it's worse than before. It hurts inside and out. The usual burning combined with something else—something new. It grips her chest and pounds into the pit of her stomach._

_"This is your fault," Martine remarks. "You can't protect anyone. Not even yourself."_

_Martine holds out a gun, and Shaw stares up at the long threatening barrel. She's back in the stock exchange. The cold hard floor presses against her hot skin. Root stands in the elevator with terror filled eyes. Bright blue walls echo with every gunshot fired. The last sound she hears is Root's scream against the metal grating and Shaw immediately wishes she could erase the noise from memory. It's a horrible gut wrenching sound; a plea of desperation. Root is trapped behind that elevator door where Shaw left her—left them all. But they are safe. This is her last thought before the world she fought to defend fades away._

_Metal against metal. Gunshot into flesh. Darkness._

Shaw gasped, and her eyes jolted open letting the dim light sink in. It took her a moment to realize where she was and that she wasn't alone. She tried to even out her breath and calm her racing pulse. Muffled sobs and desperate pleas continued to echo through her ears. It had become increasingly difficult to separate her nightmares from reality as they spilled out in unexpected flashes, tormenting her waking moments. Cold air swept over the sweat on her bare skin, and she shivered, drawing the sheet across her body. 

In New York, it was never truly dark outside no matter the time of night. This city never slept, and she was starting to think maybe she shouldn't either. She glanced at the clock on the side table. It was three in the morning, and enough light saturated the room to cast a glow across Root's face. She was wide awake and looked terrified.

"You were mumbling and..." Root glanced out the illuminated window and swallowed hard. "I tried to wake you."

Shaw was reliving the horror again; no more childhood memories, just terrible flashes from her past and future. She didn't know when or if they would stop.

Root's hand reached out, and Shaw reacted by grasping her wrist. The contact would probably leave a bruise; any more pressure and the bone would be broken. She felt like a bomb that might detonate at any moment. She had to regain control. This wasn't her. She loosened her grip, allowing Root's hand to fall against the sheets. "Sorry, I..." was all Shaw managed to whisper before the words caught in her throat. 

Shaw could still feel Root's eyes fixed on her, as she stared up at the ceiling wishing this moment had never happened. She wanted to fall asleep again, but there was no chance of that happening now. "I suck at this." Shaw turned to face Root. "This whole talking about my feelings thing."

"I have nightmares too," Root’s glassy eyes shimmered under the glow from the outside lights; the city they couldn't keep out, not even for a few quiet hours. "I would finally find you, but I was always too late. You were counting on us— _on me_ , and I failed. Every time.”

"You didn't fail." Shaw extended a hand halfway, and Root grasped on tight, locking their fingers together. "Besides, maybe I wasn't ready to be found." It was the same lie she told herself while she was held captive.

"You can't win this fight alone, and I can't do this without you." 

Root exhaled and rested her head on Shaw's shoulder. The wetness from her eyes soaked into her tank top, but Shaw didn't mind. She raised her hand and ran it through Root's hair grasping tighter than she should, but she wasn't ready to let go.

"Yeah, I know that now." 

Shaw stared up at the ceiling again. The world around them would have to wait. For a moment she wanted to forget about all the lives taken and sacrifices made, the scars they carried with them; the ones that would heal and the ones that might stick around forever. She just wanted to stay here a little longer, with the warmth of Root pressed against her chest, before reality rushed in. Those damn nightmares suddenly seemed distant and slightly less annoying. Right now they were safe.

***

Early morning sun flooded through the window, casting enough light over Root's face to pull her from sleep. At some point last night, she drifted off, settled against the rhythmic rise and fall of Shaw's chest, and warmth that allowed the tension she carried to slip away slowly. Now, as she rubbed at her eyes the bed beside her felt cold, and she realized Shaw was gone. 

Root bolted upright; her eyes wild and in an instant, she was out of bed pulling on her jeans. The thought of losing Shaw returned and she clutched at her chest. What if this was all a dream, she thought, and it suddenly became impossible to breathe. What if Shaw was still out there, alone— _waiting_.

The panic washed away the moment she heard the rattle of dishes in the kitchen and inhaled the scent of coffee. She let out a deep sigh and collapsed back onto the edge of the bed. The sound of Shaw's mumbled confessions replayed in Root's head. It was just a nightmare, but it was terrifying. _"Root no. I can't—I can't save you."_ The words made her stomach lurch. _"I'm here. I won't leave you."_

Months passed, and so many intense feelings had built up, clawing to break free. Last night they finally reached the surface, and Root couldn't hold back any longer. She didn't want to. The anger she felt the night before didn't seem to matter now; it was irrelevant. All that mattered was trust. Root wanted to trust Harold, but he needed to move past his apprehension towards Shaw. _Shaw's not the enemy._ They were all in this fight together, those were Harold's words after all. As for the Machine, some motives were not always clear, but _the big picture that's hers_.

She leaned against the doorway and watched Shaw pour two cups of coffee. The pans she had never once taken out of the drawer now sizzled and popped to life on the stovetop and Root noticed the chocolate chip pancakes stacked on a plate nearby. She grinned at the sight in front of her.

She trusted Shaw with her life. 

Root didn't want to think about what waited for them outside these four walls. They could at least enjoy a cup of coffee first. More than anything she wanted to grab Shaw and lead her back to bed where they were safe, but she knew they couldn't stay here. 

Shaw handed her a mug, and she took a sip; cream with no sugar, it was perfect. Root found a smile once again pulling at her lips. "I see you left." Her eyes landed on the bag of groceries.

"Yeah, don't worry I was careful.”

Root took Shaw's free hand, giving it a light squeeze and letting her thumb brush across the back of her knuckles. "I know you can take care of yourself, Sameen," she said and didn't miss the way the corner of Shaw's mouth tugged up just a touch. 

Her heart felt lighter, but uncertainty remained. Root wanted to live in this moment as long as possible; this felt right. The two of them here, together—this felt _normal_ , and she was terrified it wouldn't last.

They continued to drink their coffee while standing in the doorway. Root didn't realize how close she had shifted until her leg brushed against Shaw's. The dark haired woman didn't seem to mind the slight contact, and Root began to consider what else she could get away with when a loud knock on the apartment door jerked them both to attention. 

Shaw's head snapped up, her brown eyes alert and determined in the sunlight, and she barely managed to mouth Root's name before the hacker clutched her arm and tugged her into the bedroom.

Root couldn't remember the last time anyone knocked on her front door. In fact, the more she thought about it no one had _ever_ knocked on her door while she had lived in this apartment. She grabbed her gun from the bedside table and another from the closet, tossing one over to Shaw who caught it with a nod. This wasn't a visit from a friendly neighbor.

Root expected her apartment to be torn apart when she arrived, but she assumed they would have come much sooner. Not that it mattered now. They were here, they were probably heavily armed, and she had something they wanted.


	13. Chapter 13

**Less than one month ago**

Capital savings and loan faced 54th Avenue. The polished brass doors arched high above the bustling street. Most people couldn't help but stop to admire the architecture of this landmark as they passed. Claire Vargas worked inside this building for the last four years and although most days she still paused at the entrance before stepping inside, this morning she didn't bother to take in the sight. There was no time. As she reached the door, flushed after a brisk walk from the subway station, she glanced at her reflection in the glass doors and smoothed out her tousled hair. 

Stan, the security guard, held the door open and smiled sending his thick gray eyebrows arching upwards. He was also something of a landmark around here. "Good morning Claire" he added with a quick nod, but she didn't stop to chat. She forced a polite smile and rushed toward the elevator.

Only sixteen people had access to the twenty-first floor. The doors chimed open, and Claire squeezed inside. She took a sip of her now lukewarm coffee that she routinely picked up on her way in, even though she knew there was no chance of eating or drinking this morning. The overpacked elevator only intensified her unease. She felt her stomach drop as the elevator light paused on twenty-one, and realized she was still holding her breath. 

Claire exited and turned left. The biometric palm scanner beeped releasing the lock, and she pulled the door open. This was the same routine she repeated every morning, but today Claire had to wipe the sweat from her palm before placing her hand on the reader. 

She avoided eye contact while passing her coworkers. She was acting strange, that much was obvious. _Get a grip and focus._ A government job with her clearance level came with risks, she knew this when she signed on. Still, she kept to herself and lived a quiet life, so she never expected to wake up one morning to a mysterious phone call from an untraceable number. This was the kind of thing that happened in movies.

She reached the server room and exhaled, scanning the space before stepping inside. No one was here yet. _This will all be over soon._ At least that's what the voice on the phone had assured. Do this one thing, and there would be no further contact. 

Shades of blue cast across the white walls from the lighted monitors, all scheduled to turn on at exactly seven in the morning. Industrial shelving lined the back of the room stacked with numbered containers. She knew which box contained the hard drive. After all, this was her creation.

Claire grabbed her cell phone and pressed the unknown number that she now had on auto dial. It rang three times before connecting. "Okay. I'm in." 

A scrambled voice replied sending a shiver down her back as she moved across the room. _"Once you have the hard drive go to the corner of 3rd Avenue and East 10th Street. Pick up a package from the newspaper vendor under the name Anna Borg. Open it, and you'll find a case. Place the drive in the case, set the combination lock to 7668, and leave it at the Plaza hotel reception desk for Vicki Hopper. Any questions?”_

“No, I got it,” Claire said, the words scraping against her dry throat. She had a knack for retaining information. That was one of the hiring points when she was recruited. She steadied her trembling hands and released the hard drive from the locked box.

The cold metal casing seemed heavier than usual. The technology within the case wasn’t meant to leave this room. If anyone found out about this, she would be dead in a matter of minutes. Her heart began to pound in her chest and with a deep breath she placed the drive into her shoulder bag. Once she completed this delivery 7.5 million dollars would be wired into her anonymous account, and she would board a plane to Sicily. If nothing else, Claire could no longer say she led an uneventful life.

**Present day**

Shaw continued to watch Root carefully with her gun gripped tight and eyes wide. She knew the Machine was talking, so she waited in silence. 

“There's three of them. Two outside my front door and one heading around back." Root grabbed a second gun from her closet. "We need to leave through the bedroom window and head down the fire escape.”

“Samaritan agents?”

“No.” Root replied. 

“Well, then who the hell is it?”

“There's no time for introductions Shaw.” 

Shaw made no attempt to head towards the bedroom window. Instead, she rushed across the room and peered out the peephole. The hallway was silent and empty. This can't be good, she thought. She didn’t need the Machine to tell her what would happen next. At any moment the door would come crashing down followed by gunfire. 

Shaw made it halfway back to the bedroom when it happened. Sometimes she hated being right. The loud sound of an explosion sent the door off its hinges. A metal canister rolled across the floor emitting a loud bang along with a cloud of white smoke. Shaw instinctively covered her mouth. She scanned the smoke-filled living room one last time before locking the bedroom door and turning her attention towards Root. 

“Go,” Shaw shouted motioning Root towards the window, but her words seemed to have little effect on the woman who stood in place with a look of disbelief. 

“Aren't you coming?” 

“Running isn't my style. I think I'll greet our uninvited guests.”

Root approached Shaw from behind gripping her arm. “Sameen, there’s no point.” 

“Is there something you want to tell me?” Shaw waited with more patience than she felt at this moment. 

Root pressed her lips together, her tone more serious. “I’ll explain everything when we are someplace safe. the Machine said we have a thirty-five percent chance of survival, and that's decreasing the longer we stand here.” 

“I've faced worse odds,” Shaw replied, squaring her stance in preparation for the imminent attack. 

“You told me I should trust the Machine. That's what I'm doing. Root lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper. She says we need to leave.” 

The tone in Root's voice crept in and began to wear her down. This need to protect the people she cared about was really starting to get on Shaw’s nerves, but she looked into Root's pleading eyes and sighed. "Fine, let's go."

A loud pounding shook the bedroom door, and Shaw pushed Root towards the open window with a little too much force. The woman stumbled forward and gripped the ledge giving Shaw one last desperate glance before making her way down the stairs.

Shaw had one leg over the windowsill, still fixed on the bedroom door, as it broke open. The smoke cleared enough for her to take in the appearance of a man dressed in all black tactical gear. She fired off a couple shots before ducking out the window and into the damp air. Bullets ricocheted off the metal stairway. Shaw didn't do quiet. That's why she took this job with Finch in the first place, but right about now she could use a vacay...somewhere sunny. Maybe a deserted island where everyone wasn't trying to kill her. 

Once her feet touched solid ground, she was pulled around the corner into the narrow alley. Root leaned against the brick wall and gestured with a finger pressed against her lips. They fell into silence. This was all about timing. Once the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, Shaw launched into an attack. A quick jab to the head with her elbow and a swift kick to the back of the knee brought the man to the ground. She punched him hard in the face. 

One down, two to go. 

Just moments ago Shaw was enjoying a decent cup of coffee, and although she might not admit it out loud, she was also enjoying Root’s company. She knew the calm wouldn't last long, but they didn’t even make it to breakfast. Shaw’s stomach grumbled. 

“I recognized that tactical gear. The way those guys moved...ISA.”

“How can you be sure?” Root asked. 

“I'm sure, but you already knew that didn’t you?”

A man and woman exited Root’s apartment building wearing athletic clothing and carrying gym bags. “Here come our party crashers," Root whispered. They watched as the two remaining agents headed to an unmarked black sedan parked down the side street pausing by the driver's door. The tinted window rolled down slightly to reveal a familiar face. 

“Control!” Root pointed her gun directly at the window. But Shaw stepped in front of her until she lowered the weapon. “You're kidding right?” Root asked in astonishment. 

“What's the point? Other than target practice." Shaw could hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth. Since when did she pass up the chance to shoot someone? Especially someone she despised as much as her former boss. “You kill her, and there’s no way we make it out of here alive. I’m betting the Machine agrees with me on this one.”

“Have a little faith Shaw, we’ve made it this far. Besides, who said anything about killing her. I just want to hurt her...a little.” Root began to raise her weapon again. 

Shaw used the full force of her body to pin Root and her gun arm firmly against the wall. It was a move Shaw used multiple times as an operative, but this was the first time the action caused a flush of heat to pass through her body on contact. 

“Don’t fire that thing. You hear me?” Shaw scolded, before releasing her grip, but Root held her close. 

“I can’t make any promises." Root leaned in close enough to brush her lips against Shaw's ear before whispering "maybe you should stay here a little longer Sameen.

The rush of heat returned along with a fog that seemed to cloud Shaw's judgment whenever Root was close. She almost had the urge to give in. _Almost._ Stepping back, Shaw allowed a cool breeze to enter the space between them. “I swear to God, you flirt at the most awkward times.” 

Shaw glanced down the tree lined street. There was no one left to shoot anyway. The sedan rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. Control and the agents were long gone. “Go grab whatever you need from your place so we can get out of here.”

***

The once pristine apartment looked like a wrecking ball had torn through. Traces of white haze still lingered in the living room. An older woman across the hall peered out. Root shrugged and shot her an innocent smile. The woman scowled in return and slammed her door abruptly. 

“Friendly building,” Shaw muttered under her breath. “Cops will be here soon.” 

"I suppose we better make this quick." Root stepped through the entrance where she once had a front door and covered her mouth to prevent inhaling the remaining gas. She began packing her duffel bag with clothes, two Mace canisters, a fully charged Taser and the two guns she had stashed away.

Root closed the lid of her laptop and shoved it into her shoulder bag. She slowly took in the devastation of her apartment. Cupboards, storage boxes, and desk drawers had been emptied out. The contents spilled across the floor. As far as she could tell, nothing had been taken. There would be no coming back to her apartment after this. She was leaving secrets behind that she should probably destroy, but the Machine reminded her that they were out of time.

Shaw stepped into the bedroom and over the files scattered across the ground. She bent down and sifted through the papers. Some contained maps and floor plans from various cities, others included photographs of unfamiliar faces. She came across one photo she did recognize.

“Guess I won't be needing those files anymore.” Root leaned against the doorway.

Shaw held the worn photograph from her ISA file. She still remembered the day this picture was taken even though it seemed like a lifetime ago. She remembered everything about her time working for Control. Every bullet fired by her hand. Every life she took to protect her country. “What is all of this?”

“That's every lead I followed since you went missing.” 

With effort, Shaw met Root's gaze and something cold and hard settled in the center of her chest.

“There's more in the closet.” Root picked up the duffel bag and paused for a moment. “I told you...I never stopped looking.”

"Root I..." Shaw swallowed hard and dropped the tattered image back into the pile. The faint sound of police sirens grew louder and without another word Root disappeared through the doorway. 

***

The quiet neighborhood sparked to life within the short amount of time they were inside. People now stood in front of the apartment building, scared and confused over the traumatic event that led them from their homes. Shaw took a deep breath letting the fresh air fill her lungs. The sun tried to break from behind the clouds, but the swirling white streaks seemed to hold it captive. 

Shaw narrowed her eyes. “Now, do you want to tell me why Control tried to kill you? And don't act like you don't know...because you know everything. It's one of your more annoying qualities.”

Root tossed the duffel bag onto the ground with a smug grin and pulled out a black briefcase. “This case is a carbon fiber Kevlar weave.” She tapped lightly on the side with the palm of her hand. “It's indestructible.”

Shaw crossed her arms. “What’s inside?”

“Just something I borrowed from your former boss. Trust me, it was necessary.”

“Is this going to help us take down Samaritan?”

“Something like that," she replied with more mystery than certainty. 

“Wait, what do you mean you borrowed it? People don't borrow things from the head of intelligence.”

“Probably why she just tried to kill me…and you. Sorry, Sameen. Wrong place, wrong time. They must have seen us arrive.” 

“It’s not bad enough Samaritan’s trailing us around the city. Now the ISA is hunting us down. What, were you bored?” Shaw asked before rolling her eyes.

“Let’s get this back to the subway. The Machine says it’s not safe to stay here any longer.” 

The police had already entered the building leaving the bright lights flashing on the top of their parked cars. 

Shaw grabbed Root’s arm as she started to walk away. Anger began to surface despite Shaw's best efforts to hold it in.  “Any reason you kept this from me?”

“Honestly, I didn't think the case would still be here when we arrived. I was going to explain last night, but things got a little...” Root licked her lips “heated.” 

“Anything else you want to confess?” 

Root raised an eyebrow. “Not that I can think of? How about you? Any more secret USB drives you've got stashed away.”

Shaw rubbed her temples and inhaled through clenched teeth. She supposed she deserved that. “Let’s just go back to the subway before Samaritan shows up next.”

***

“Oh good, you’re both safe." Harold stood from his desk and rubbed his tired eyes “Ms. Groves, I owe you an apology.”

“Harold, it’s fine.”

“It is?” Harold didn’t bother to hide the surprise from his voice.

“Yes, as long as we are clear about one thing.” Root looked him in the eyes. “Shaw is not the enemy.” 

“I know.” Harold focused on the ground for a moment before adjusting his glasses. “Ms. Shaw, I am truly sorry for doubting your loyalty. I—”

 "We're good Finch." Shaw interrupted, before Harold could ramble on further.

Harold looked at Shaw and his guilt suddenly turned to concern. After shuffling a few steps closer, he took in her appearance. "Did you have another run in with Samaritan since we last spoke?

"Not exactly. Why?"

"It looks like someone tried to strangle you." He pointed to the bruising around her neck and collarbone. "There...those marks. Please tell me you don't have another gunshot wound as well?”

Root smirked when she noticed the bruising she had left on Shaw's skin. She left her mark and in some strange way it was a reminder of what they could be...What they would be when this war was over. Last night meant something, and it terrified her. But they were moving forward. She had already spent too much time chasing demons and being chased by them.

Root glanced at Shaw who had gone into full defense mode with Harold. He kept insisting on inspecting her injuries. "Back off Finch, or you'll be the next one with a gunshot wound."

"Ms. Shaw, I'm only concerned. Perhaps you should sit down and get some rest."

"I don't need any help. I can take care of myself."

“Don’t worry Harry, Shaw’s a fighter. You should see the other guy.”

Those fiery eyes were back sending a scathing glare in Root's direction. Despite her best efforts to feign concern, an even wider grin spread across Root's face eliciting a flash of desire. She suddenly wished Harold would leave the station so she could pin Shaw against the wall...or throw her across the desk. She bit her lower lip and reminded herself they still had work to do. 

"I brought you a present Harry." Root reached into her duffle bag and presented the ominous black case that almost got them killed. The metal glistened under the fluorescent station lights.

“The laptop you asked Reese to recover—the one the Machine decided wasn’t worth dying for—how did you find out about it? The Machine didn’t tell you.”

“Ms. Groves, I have my ways although I'm not sure why that's important now?”

It wasn't relevant. Not anymore, but Root continued to explain for Shaw's sake. 

“The laptop you were looking for was used to hack Samaritan. The operatives destroyed it earlier that day...just before Shaw escaped. But we both know that doesn’t matter now since the relevant contents were transferred onto Shaw's USB drive. Root kept her focus on Shaw and watched her eyes grow wide at this revelation.

Finch frowned and took a step forward. "How did you—" 

"I had a little chat with your Machine. It seems she was trying to protect me but she finally filled me in on the details." The thing is...your drive is only part of the puzzle. The big picture Harry.” Root entered a four digit code into the metal case and slid it across the table.

The hard drive inside this case contains a fraction of code created by Claire Vargas for a secret operation within the United States government known as project blackout. When completed it's said this will be the most powerful virus in existence and will be capable of—.

"Destroying Samaritan?" Shaw muttered, her eyes studying Root with the faintest glimmer of hope that caused a knot to tighten in Root's chest.

“Yes, but the virus and the code are incomplete.” Root stepped towards Harold until she was close enough to see her reflection in his black-rimmed glasses. “That's where you and I come in. Everything we’ve been working towards—this will help us reach the finish line in record time. Thanks to Shaw we have a unique string of characters from Samaritan's core code. We can cripple it long enough to run the virus. With a little help from your Machine, we could finally wipe out Samaritan.”

"That's not all this virus could wipe out." Harold frowned, and Root knew what he was thinking. She had the same concerns, but they knew there would be consequences.

Dark eyes searched Root's in the dim light before Shaw took a step closer. "If there's a chance I say we take it. Unless you have another plan?" 

There was no other plan. This was their best chance. Maybe their only chance.

"The usb drive is heavily encrypted but I recognize Arthur's code." Harold sighed. "Once we crack the encryption we will have to be on-site to finish this."

"Can’t you just hack it from here?"

"You didn’t think it would be that easy sweetie?"

Shaw rubbed the back of her neck. "So where's this site?"

"Brooklyn College," Harold replied. "The precise location is still unknown, but I'm sure it will be heavily guarded."

"Harry, you and I have some work to do." Root looked out across the dim subway station. There was still that fear in her gut, but it was slowly being replaced by something lighter. Something that felt a little like hope. Root closed her eyes and took a calming breath. At least they had a plan...one that might actually work.


	14. Chapter 14

From the passenger's seat, where Root sipped her latte, Brooklyn College gleamed in the morning light like a hidden oasis. The campus looked like it belonged in the hills of a small New England town rather than deep in the heart of Brooklyn. Cars streamed into the parking lot claiming the remaining empty spaces. Eager young people shuffled from their vehicles— backpacks and laptop cases weighing them down—as they rushed towards the brick buildings blanketed behind a cloak of elm trees. A light breeze brushed across her face, and she inhaled the scent of fresh cut grass. This was the perfect sunny morning for an undercover mission.

Shaw lowered her coffee cup and groaned. Her glasses fogged up again, and Root couldn't help but smile at the sight of the grumpy woman sitting next to her.

"So, what time is your class..."  Shaw leaned forward and read the security badge pinned to the bottom of Root’s blazer, “professor Charlize Scott?”

“Ten o' clock. I've got some time to kill, but you have to be at the library by nine. Don’t want to be late for your first day of work.”

"You really are enjoying this, aren’t you?" 

She looked Shaw up and down before settling back in her seat. "What can I say Sameen. You make one sexy librarian." You can check out my books anytime. 

"I knew I was going to regret this."

Maybe she was enjoying this a little more than she should. They were close to something dangerous, but she breathed a little easier with the Machine back; feeding information through her cochlear implant. She knew better than to let her guard down, but there was no reason she couldn't have a little fun.

"So...How long do you think this will take?" Shaw removed her glasses and rubbed at the lens with the corner of her shirt.

"Until we figure out why Samaritan is interested in this place."

"Or why Lambert lied to Finch. I mean how do we know this isn't a trap and we're doing exactly what they want."

"There's only one way to find out." Root leaned towards Shaw, a little closer than necessary, and pinned an access card on her blouse. "You should probably get going, sweetie."

With one final display of disapproval, Shaw rolled her eyes before stepping out of the car, tugging at the hem of her dress and grabbing a granola bar. 

Root watched her round the corner, heels clicking across the sidewalk until she disappeared from sight; swallowed into the crowd of scrambling students. She rested her empty coffee cup on the dash and sank back into the leather seat. She didn't like this—watching Shaw walk away—knowing Samaritan was close. 

"Thanks," she whispered, as the Machine passed along a status update letting her know when Shaw arrived at the library. Unfortunately, the news didn't ease the knot tightening in her chest.

Their virus was nearing completion. With Harold at her side, they continued to work nonstop while the mayhem twins returned to their usual kneecapping routine. Things were starting to feel normal again. The only normal that had ever made sense to her. 

She gathered her class notes and looked down at the course description: An introduction to the intellectual enterprises of computer science and the art of programming. There was no time to prepare any course materials, but she didn't anticipate an intro to computer science class to be challenging. She could wing it.

***

She was good at her job. No, she was great. She always delivered. _Always_. This time would be no different...except for one thing. This guy was a ghost. Riley wasn’t kidding. She wasn’t about to give up. She didn’t quit, and she didn’t back down. He would slip eventually. They always did. She just had to be patient. 

_Today that patience would pay off._

"More coffee?" the waitress behind the counter asked with a cheerful grin. 

“Sure, thanks." What was this, her fourth cup now? She could only drink so slow.

Frankie pushed her mug across the counter and brought the newspaper close, escaping the prying eyes of the locals. If it weren't for all the caffeine, she’d probably be asleep by now. The drive was long, and every stretch of road started to look the same. After racking up the miles on her rental car, she finally pulled off the highway in Estacada, Oregon. She found an old diner just off the side of the road; the place was small, dingy, nothing exciting…except for the blonde stranger sitting amongst the locals. Today she was the most interesting thing about this place, which made it difficult to keep a low profile. 

The woman at the table to her right ordered a stack of pancakes while her two kids tossed packets of sugar across the table. She shouted, "stop that" twice before sinking back into the booth in defeat. 

Frankie couldn't wait to wrap this up and head back to New York. Small town’s made her claustrophobic. Life stands still in places like this, for people like her. 

Her phone vibrated on top of the menu, illuminating the daily special's section. With a groan, she tapped the decline button. Riley...again. He called so many times she’d lost count. If she answered, he would probably come up here on the next flight. Although, she doubted there was an airport anywhere near this place. She worked better alone. There were fewer distractions. Riley was definitely a distraction. What did she really know about the guy? John Riley probably wasn’t even his real name. 

As she prepared to dive into what was sure to be a thrilling article about the local high school football team, she saw her target cross the street.

Jeremy Lambert ditched the black suit jacket, but the stiff white collar shirt and black sunglasses were a dead giveaway. Was he even trying to go off the grid? Was this all part of some plan? Riley's voice crept into her head, warning her to let this go, but of course, she chose to ignore it. 

She tossed some cash on the table next to her empty pie plate and a full cup of coffee. The waitress looked concerned by her sudden departure, but Frankie smiled and made sure to leave an extra large tip. Money seemed to have a way of making people forget things. 

With a deliberate casual stride she exited the diner, but once she rounded the corner she broke into a sprint towards her rental car; Something generic and white she chose to blend in and keep a low profile. 

Lambert paced outside the local bank with his cell pressed against his ear. Confronting him here was a bad idea. Her best bet would be to follow him again and hope he stopped somewhere more secluded. At least someplace that didn't have security cameras.

She picked up her phone and stared at another missed call. For a brief moment she contemplated calling Riley back, but she had come too far. Lambert was right in front of her. Now all she had to do was stay alive long enough to bring him back. 

***

“And we can save that topic for the next class,” Root said, before closing her laptop and unplugging the cord connected to the large projection screen. _Had it been two hours already?_ She scanned the lab and waited while the students shut down their computers and filed out of the room. 

She needed this mission more than she realized until now. Stepping out of the subway and into this classroom provided an unexpected clarity. At some point—about forty minutes into class—the pieces fell into place. The completion of an algorithm she struggled with the night before. The answer seemed so simple. She would have to call Harry and let him know, but first things first.

Now that her class was over, she could focus on the real reason they were here. Shaw had her doubts about this place, but Root could feel it—even without the Machine’s confirmation— something dark was here. She knew what she had to do, but she wasn't sure she was ready. Not yet. Not without Shaw. 

“How’s Shaw?" Root asked the Machine, but she was already heading towards the exit in search of the library before she received a response.

After a short walk to the East Quad, Root approached a brick building anchored at the center of campus. She crossed the low flight of stairs leading up to a polished set of double doors, which were propped open, a sign posted beside them listing the library hours.

There she was. Standing beside a group of young men. They didn't seem remotely interested in books, but Shaw assisted each student with a forced smile. At least she hadn’t punched anyone, but it was still early in the day.

Root made her way upstairs and was hit by the overwhelming scent of dusty books. She passed by the rows of computer stations and metal chairs. At the computer science section, she grabbed a book off the shelf and settled into an empty corner near the back. When she was young, she felt more at ease in the library than her own home. Of course that all changed when he took Hanna away. Everything changed that night.

"I should have known I’d find you in the nerd section." Shaw appeared and sat in front of her on a leather bench. 

Root smiled but didn’t look up from her book. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.” 

"Shouldn't this place be empty. Don't kids read everything online these days."

"Not when there's a hot new librarian. That skirt you're wearing isn't keeping anyone away." Root glanced up just in time to catch the eye roll. 

"Did you find anything? Please tell me I can quit soon."

"Patience Sameen. Besides, this can’t be as bad as the makeup counter.”

“That's one memory Samaritan can wipe out." 

Root didn't miss the way Shaw's jaw tensed, and she wasn't sure how much she should read into this, but Shaw changed the subject before Root was able to ask any of the questions that were quickly forming in her mind. 

"I've had Finch in my ear all morning talking about books, authors, historical facts. You and I both know he's perfect for this job."

"Harry is better behind the scenes. Besides if we do find something here, I need you."

"Fine, but shouldn’t you be out there looking around?" Shaw questioned. "Or are you just going to wait here until I’m off the clock?”

“Probably. Thought I might brush up on some course material before my next class."

“I thought you were teaching an intro course? You could teach that class in your sleep. Since when do you just sit around and wait?

The answer was never. Until now, anyway. 

“Hey," Shaw grabbed the book from Root’s hand and lowered it. "You don’t have to watch over me. I know what you’re thinking."

“That’s because you're thinking the same thing.”

“We wouldn’t be here if the Machine didn’t have our back…right?”

Shaw was right. Or at least she hoped. They had cover identities. The Machine was watching. But she still couldn't shake the unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. 

It was always with her now; this uneasy feeling. Down in the subway station, the feeling was far worse. No matter how much she tried to throw herself into her work with Harold, she couldn’t escape her own thoughts. The past reeled through her mind on an endless loop, mixed with the uncertainty of what was coming. 

_Would they win? Would they lose? Would they live long enough to enjoy any kind of victory?_

“I'm scared, Shaw. This isn't about winning. Not anymore. She closed her eyes for a moment and clutched the book a little tighter. I'm scared I'll lose you again."

Silence settled between them, leaving only the sounds of typing and whispered conversations throughout the library. Root didn't expect a reply. Not here, not now. She wanted to say more, but Shaw seemed to be miles away, lost in thought, as she stared out the window.

“Would you go back?" Shaw asked, breaking the silence. "You know if you could erase this. No Samaritan, no AI apocalypse, no—”

“No Machine? No...us?” Root leaned closer until their eyes met, and a rush of warmth traveled through her body. “Sameen, I'm right where I want to be.” I, just—

"I know. I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

Root squeezed Shaw's hand. False hope was better than no hope. 

“I should probably get back to work. Do you think you could at least bring me a Sandwich or something? Before you finish reading that book.”

A smile spread across Root's face. This was one mission she could handle right now.

***

The sun set behind the tallest trees casting a blanket of golden hues across the mountains. Frankie was somewhere east of Cascade Locks when she braked hard and cut the engine. Lambert’s black sedan rolled off the main stretch of highway and onto a narrow dirt road.

Frankie drew a deep breath. Now would be a good time for a plan...if she had one. She was acting purely on instinct.

Lambert exited the car and looked at his watch. At a brisk pace, he headed down the narrow dirt trail and disappeared into the shadows. 

_Shit._

She had to get moving, or she’d lose him in the maze of trees. She threw open the door and walked along the edge of the road. Somehow she hadn’t noticed the low chain link fence until it stretched out in front of her. She climbed over with ease and worked her way down a steep hillside until the ground began to level out. 

This probably wasn't one of her better ideas, she thought, leaning against a pine tree to catch her breath. Maybe she should have called John, but it was too late now. She didn't have cell reception out here. Her foot slipped on the damp ground, and her recovery was anything but graceful.

Frankie pulled out her gun and shook her head. _What the hell have you got yourself mixed up in?_ Lambert didn't move. He was far enough ahead that her little slip up went unnoticed. 

Low branches scratched her face with each step, and she cursed under her breath. Only the glow of moonlight was left to guide her, but as she walked deeper into the forest, the canopy of tall trees blocked out the remaining light.  

Her eyes grew wide when she heard footsteps behind her, and even wider when the gun release clicked against her head. 

_No. Fucking. Way._

"Don't move,” the deep voice whispered. 

He smelled of sweat and cigarettes. A hired thug. A low budget hit man. She imagined the selection was slim out here in the middle-of-fucking-nowhere. 

He bound her hands with duct tape behind her back, but her legs remained untied. Was this guy for real? He didn’t even pat her down first. She just had to reach Deacon’s knife, tucked in her back pocket. She never went anywhere without it. 

Lambert approached with his arms crossed. He must have known she was watching him all along. He stopped a few feet in front of her. His eyes fixed on her as a slow smile spread across his face sending a chill down her spine. She blinked and tried to see through the surrounding darkness. 

Rent-a-thug kicked her in the back, and she sank to her knees. She felt the cold, wet forest floor seep into her jeans and the stinging pain in her leg from the rock she hit on the way down. Heat flushed her face, and she clenched her jaw. She would kick this guys ass in a minute, but she couldn't believe she hadn't seen this coming.

He moved around to talk with Lambert, and she finally got a good look at the guy. He was older than she expected; older and shorter. His long gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Their conversation was muffled, but she managed to catch Lambert's final words as he muttered, "we're done here," and with one last smile towards Frankie he said, "finish this."

He started to leave, and Frankie fought the urge to scream out. This wasn't over. He couldn’t just walk away. The least he could do was stick around and finish this himself. 

Lambert's hired help walked towards her. She concentrated on his movements, taking a moment to study him. When he approached, she rose to her feet, finding solid ground, waiting for an opening. She lashed out with a swift kick to his ribs, wheeled around and kicked again at his knee sending him to the ground. She hit his hip, backed off a few feet, and switched legs for the next kick. With her hands bound, she did not have the balance to kick with her usual force, but she was getting the job done. 

She was in good physical shape. All those hours at the gym were put to good use. Still, she was exhausted. She had been awake for what seemed like forever. Driving, waiting and now fighting in the forest. Would this day ever end? It was her own damn fault that she was even in this mess. No time to dwell on that now. The last kick caught her off balance and she took a tumble.

Frankie hit the ground and with some effort moved her arms from behind her back to her front. She had her knife now. “Thanks, brother,” she whispered and sliced at the tape with determination. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. She'd be damned if she ended up shot and nearly unconscious like the last time. She was in control. 

Her arms now free, she searched the area for the gun, and when her eyes caught sight of the silver metal casing, she lunged. She brushed the hair out of her face and listened to her surroundings. With the gun held out, she whirled in all directions. Why did it have to be so damn dark? The silence made her chest ache, but then she heard a shuffling and fired into the darkness.

_Bang._

A flash of light sparked from the barrel followed by a groan. He was hit, but he was still moving; slow and clumsy. A whistling, wheezing sound grew closer. She fired again. 

_Bang._

No sounds, no movement. Nothing but silence. Frankie placed her hands on her knees and steadied her breath.

Distant headlights flooded through the trees and she shielded her eyes for a moment before bolting towards the source of light. He wasn't getting away. Adrenaline had kicked in, driving her at full force. 

Her foot caught the edge of a rock. She tumbled to the ground. 

Frankie’s cheek stung. She touched the warm blood with her fingers and winced. _Keep moving. Keep moving, or that bastard will get away._

She got up, climbed back over the fence and didn’t stop until she stepped into the clearing. The dirt road was surrounded by trees on all sides. She squinted and took a couple cautious steps closer. Headlights flooded her vision. She was in the spotlight and Lambert had the advantage. Only the outline of his figure was visible, leaning against the car. He had no intention of driving away. He was waiting for her. Waiting to see if she would make it this far.  

“You shouldn’t have come here.” He placed his hands in his pockets and took a step towards her. "Did you really think I didn't know? You've been following me since I boarded my plane."

"Doesn't matter now. It's just you and me, and only one of us leaves this place." This was fucking crazy. Was she really about to have a showdown in the middle of the wilderness? When did her life become a bad western movie? She managed to keep her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. All that coffee she drank earlier wasn't helping calm her nerves.

"Did John send you? You're too late, you know. You can't save them. And they can't stop what's coming."

 _Save who? What's coming?_ She had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but it was the way he said it. His words left her cold and empty like the dark eyes that stared back at her. She held his gaze, and she knew. 

She knew this was the end; for one of them. 

The knife flew from her hand. She threw it as hard as she could. So hard her shoulder burned. She watched the blade sink deep into Lambert's side and without hesitation she raised her gun.

 _What are you waiting for?_ The pounding in her chest traveled through her body. Her head throbbed. Her arms shook. She wouldn’t be able to hold the gun steady much longer. _Pull the damn trigger. End this._

The shot pierced his chest sending him stumbling back. He slid down the side of the vehicle and slumped to the ground. 

She ran at him, kicked his weapon far from reach, and stared down at his bleeding body. 

She wanted to collapse but managed to stay on her feet. She knew she'd never bring Lambert back alive. She'd realized that some time ago.

She wasn't even sure what compelled her to pursue this. Riley had already paid her. Lambert was no longer her responsibility, but she couldn't stop. He'd shot her. She could have died. She wanted revenge.

She’d wanted revenge for her brother’s death. 

Riley stopped her that night. Stopped her from killing Ray Pratt. He wanted to save her. Stop her from becoming something she would regret; a murderer. The truth was, she had become a different person long before she met John Riley. 

It was over. Jeremy Lambert had stopped breathing. Frankie bent down and retrieved her brother's knife, wiping the blade across his shirt.

John. She had to warn John. 

Lambert's final words might make sense to him. Her mind raced with thoughts and questions. She pulled out her cell phone. Still no reception. She'd catch a flight back to New York tomorrow. Whatever the hell was going on, Riley owed her an explanation. She doubted he'd talk, but that wouldn't stop her from trying. 

She could be very persistent.


	15. Chapter 15

“I didn’t realize this was going to take so long. I’m starving.” Shaw exhaled an audible sigh. It wasn’t bad enough she worked at the library all day. Now she worked the night shift with Reese. She peered out the passengers window, focusing her attention on the steady lights flickering in the distance and the low hum of planes circling the tarmac. She probably wouldn’t even get to shoot anyone tonight and she could really use the release. All they seemed to do these days was wait. Sit and wait. She was done waiting.

“I didn’t either. Flight was delayed” Reese shrugged. 

The delay was out of his control but Shaw still sent him a disapproving glare. “Did you really need me here for this? I could be sleeping right now.” Who was she kidding? When was the last time she actually slept? “Speaking of sleep, you should try it some time. You look like crap.”

“I sleep.” Reese gave a feeble reply that wasn’t remotely convincing.

Shaw rolled her eyes and rifled through the glove box before slamming the compartment door. “Don’t you have a candy bar or a bag of chips. Anything?” Fusco always brought snacks. She thought about her long nights of surveillance, trapped in a car with Lionel and she found the memory wasn’t completely unpleasant. She slumped into the seat, hungry and defeated, resting her elbow against the window. In less than eight hours she’d be back at the library filled with hormonal boys and dusty old books that were stirring up allergies she didn’t even know she had.

“If you want to talk about what happened I can be a pretty good listener.” Reese shifted in his seat and the cheap vinyl let out an unpleasant squeak.

“Oh yeah, since when?”

“It’s something I’m working on.”

She swallowed hard. She didn’t want to talk. She could feel Reese’s eyes on her. Studying her and wanting to push, but she knew he wouldn’t. He wasn’t exactly an open book. Reese didn’t share his feelings. It was one of the reasons they worked well together. 

They settled into a comfortable silence, both mulling over their own thoughts until Reese finally decided to speak again. “We’ll end this.” He knew her well enough to know that was the only thing that mattered now.

“Not soon enough.” She chanced a sideways glance in his direction and caught a glimpse of his concerned blue eyes. “They tried to convince me that what they are doing is right. That we’ve got it all wrong, and Samaritan has our best interest in mind.”

_“And?”_

“And, its crap. All of it." An image of Greer flashed through her mind. His twisted smile wrinkling at the corners, smug and unsettling. She fought the urge to punch the dash with her fist. “I watched them kill innocent people because they thought it would right some future wrong that hasn’t even happened yet.” 

"Take a few innocent lives now and save hundreds in the future."

"That's not our decision to make. Not ours and not some super computer. You know I don't always agree with Finch, but at least he's clear about one thing. We have free will to make our own decisions, right or wrong. Samaritan wants to take that away from us. Now, I don't know about you, but that's not a world I'm ready to live in.”

“Well, then It's a good thing you're on our side.”

“I’d rather die than work for Samaritan.” She hoped he believed that. She still saw doubt in Harold’s eyes, but she couldn’t read Reese. Either way he would have to take her word. She came back to help them. She stared out the window. A plane climbed higher into the sky until it was a small glint of flashing light, swallowed by darkness.

She shivered but she wasn’t cold. Something compelled her to bolt from this car and into the night, vanishing into the city. A ghost, left to fight alone. But there were things that held her here. Instead she sucked in a sharp breath or air and changed the subject. She’d had enough Samaritan talk for one night. “So, Silva and Frankie…they’ve been working the numbers with you?” 

“Silva worked a few cases with me and a few with Root. Frankie...well thats more complicated.”

Shaw turned to face him. She tried to imagine Root working with a partner other than Finch or herself. She didn’t even know Silva, but she found herself resenting her for the time she spent working the numbers while she was away. Was it resentment or was it something else? Whatever it was, she didn’t like it.  

"Silva’s a smart girl. It didn’t take her long to realize I wasn’t an average homicide detective." He smirked. 

“You don’t say?” Either Reese missed her sarcastic tone or he chose to ignore it. 

"She asked a few too many questions and I couldn’t seem to get her to back off, so I decided she might be able to help. She doesn’t know everything, but she knows enough,” he added. "It’s been useful to have the extra help. Harold doesn’t like to bring new people in, but he’s been a little hesitant to send Root anywhere alone. We got nothing from the Machine when you disappeared. Our contact has been limited. Root had to obtain her information in other ways.” 

 _Other ways._ He didn’t have to explain. Shaw remembered her first encounter with Root, before her unusual bond with the Machine. The hacker could be clever and ruthless when she wanted something. She thought about the files scattered across the floor in Root’s apartment. All the leads she had followed, the sadness in her warm brown eyes when she held Shaw’s gaze. “I never stopped looking.” Shaw’s throat went dry. 

“Everything Okay?” Reese asked.

“Yeah, fine” Shaw focused straight ahead and cleared her throat. “Look, as much as I enjoy being the third wheel on your date with Frankie I still don’t know why I’m here. Please tell me I’m not here to drive you both back while you sit in the backseat and make out, because I didn’t sign up for that.”

Reese stumbled over his words and Shaw was enjoying watching him in the hot seat for a change. “It’s not—we’re not—she might be in danger.”

“ _Might_ be in danger?”

“She killed Lambert. She can't go back to her old life. She's one of us now.”

“That’s one hell of an initiation.” Shaw took a moment to let the words sink in. The man who kept her handcuffed, threatened her and watched her struggle to stay alive is dead. She was almost disappointed she wouldn’t get the chance to kill him. This airport trip suddenly made sense. Samaritan would be waiting for Frankie’s plane to land. Maybe she’d get to shoot someone after all. 

A loud knock on the car window rattled Shaw from her thoughts. She rolled it down, glaring at the tall slender figure hovering in front of her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was running over the footage from the areas we looked into earlier today at the college. That hallway thats monitored by two security cameras—I was able to hack the feed. Now we just have to deal with the palm scanner. We should try to find a way into that room tomorrow.” Root tapped her fingers lightly against the car door. 

“You drove all the way out here to tell me this now?”

“I thought I’d take a break, and I thought you might be hungry.” Root held up a foil wrapped burrito and waved it in front of the window.

Shaw grabbed it with a satisfied grunt, ignoring the way both Reese and Root grinned at her.

"Did you bring me one?" Reese asked. 

Root simply shrugged and slid into the back seat. “I needed to get out and get some fresh air. Not that the air in here seems very fresh.” She scrunched her nose. “Where did you get this car?”

Shaw managed to mumble through a mouthful of food, “Ask Reese.” 

***

_“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We have landed at JFK airport in New York. We hope you have enjoyed your flight with United West Airlines this evening and wish you a very safe journey to your final destination.”_

Frankie rubbed at her sore neck, stiff and burning from the uncomfortable plane seat. She gave up on sleep after the first hour. An infant wailed two rows in front of her. Usually it would be enough to drive her crazy, but not tonight. She focused on the sound. It kept her mind from other thoughts. 

She ached for a hot bath and a good nights sleep. Would she be able to sleep or would she close her eyes and see his face? Surely New York would offer some comfort? She was home. She’d flown far away from her problem, but it didn’t work that way. She knew it didn’t. With a flick, the airplane mode button was turned off and she waited until she had reception. A few emails popped up and two text messages, one from Riley. 

_Come to parking lot C when you land. I’ll be waiting._

A man of few words. That was Johnny. A wave of relief rushed over her and the tension in her shoulders slowly faded. She didn’t know exactly what was going on, but she didn’t want to be alone just yet. And she still had questions. One question left an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Who was Lambert? The man she murdered—who was he really? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

***

“We have company,” Root said. “I knew there was a reason she wanted me here tonight.”

“Wait, the Machine sent you here?” Shaw looked surprised by this.

“I didn’t want to worry you until I knew more.”

“A little heads up would have been nice.”

“There’s two agents heading this way in black SUV’s with a kill order and three more SUV’s not far behind. How’s that for a heads up?” She knew something was coming, but the Machine didn’t give her the details, She just told her where to go.

“Where the hell is she?”

“There!” Root pointed into the darkness. She watched the blonde woman dressed in all black saunter towards the car, illuminated only by the occasional dim parking lot lamps as she passed. 

Reese turned on the headlights and started the engine. “Frankie,” he shouted through the rolled down window, followed by “run!”

He didn’t have to shout twice. She was sprinting towards the car now. Her bag crashing into her back with each step across the pavement. She closed the gap, tossing her belongings into the backseat and climbing into the car next to Root. She didn’t speak. Instead she held her hand over her chest and tried to steady her breathing.  

“Go,” Root whispered and Reese stepped on the gas.

Tires screeched across the almost empty parking lot. Root waited for the next command. Where would they go? How would they get away? The agents were close, too close. “Turn left and take the frontage road.”

They made it out of the parking garage and halfway down the frontage road when headlights appeared from behind. Just one vehicle headed their way…so far. 

“Faster John.”

The engine roared as they increased speed. John stared ahead, determination set into his creased forehead. Frankie remained silent while Shaw held her gun out and rolled her window down. The car was still far off but gaining speed. They waited for what they all knew was coming in a matter of seconds. 

The first bullet crashed into the rear window. The alarming sound caused Frankie and even Root to jump in their seats. Scattered cracks radiated outward from the bullets mark, but the glass remained intact. _Bullet proof glass._ The car smelled of cigarette smoke and alcohol, but John’s decision to drive it tonight made sense now. He mentioned he picked it up from the impound lot this afternoon. Apparently it belonged to a drug dealer he’d arrested.

“Are they here for me? Is this about Lambert?” Frankie questioned.

“We are all targets.” Root replied. Everyone in this car was a primary threat. Samaritan had hit the jackpot tonight. One solid blow and they would all be wiped out.

Reese swerved the car into an alley on Root’s command and Shaw barely had enough time to climb back through the window. “Make a hard right at the end of this lane,” Root whispered.

She had one gun out and retrieved another from her waistband. Frankie looked at her with a mixture of confusion and horror. “Just sit tight and we’ll wrap this up in time to watch the sunrise.” Root grinned and when the car sped out of the alley she was hanging out the backseat window.

This wasn’t good. The street was too busy. Cars swerved and honked all around, pedestrians leapt out of the way with only seconds to spare. Somehow they managed to race through the traffic without causing too much damage. Impressive driving Root thought, but didn’t bother saying it out loud. Now hardly seemed like the time to hand out compliments. At the end of the next block John slammed on the brakes as two standard issue black vehicles stopped in front of them forming a blockade. 

Not even bullet proof glass could save them. They had to get out of this car, take cover someplace safe, but where? The machine evaluated their options. The news wasn’t good.

“Now what?” Frankie’s wide eyes searched the car landing on each occupant, waiting for any kind of direction. 

“Now we stay alive.” Root handed her a gun before exiting the car.

Shots made contact with concrete and metal. Agents rushed by in a streak of black. Root stood for a moment surrounded by chaos. Pedestrians screamed. Cars swerved off the road the moment they caught sight of the guns. John threw punches to her left. Frankie ran towards him. 

_Shaw. Where's Shaw?_

She searched through the smoke filled night, tinged red from the blinking street lights, until she saw the agents bodies on the ground. A tiny ferocious woman stood over the fallen agents, ready to strike without hesitation. Root smiled.

“I’d ask if you needed any help but you look like you’ve got this under control.” Root arrived in time to watch her punch out the remaining agent with her elbow. 

Shaw tugged at the corner of Root’s jacket bringing her down to a crouched level. “There’s still two agents on us. One to your left and the other is trying to get a jump on us through those apartments. I saw him run in there.” 

“I know.” Root arched an eyebrow and without hesitation she stood up and shot into the third floor apartment window. A man in black slumped over the open windowsill, his firearm falling to the sidewalk below.

“You forgot one.”

“No, he’s heading towards John in five, four, three, two…” 

 _Bang_.

The man fell just short of where John stood. He shouted a “thanks” in her direction before grabbing Frankie’s arm and running for cover. 

There were no immediate threats. _Not yet anyway._ They had about ten minutes to get out of there before the next set of cars arrived. The area was silent. This almost seemed too easy. Root walked towards her last target. His back was in the air, legs crossed. She could tell he was still breathing, slow and steady. She kicked his gun out of reach pushing the toe of her boot into his side until he rolled onto his back. He looked up at her with a mixture of agony and something else. _Was he smiling?_ The man coughed violently into his hand, leaving his fingers slick with blood. He lasted about three more seconds before his eyes went blank and his movement stilled. Her stomach lurched, her heart raced. Something wasn’t right. 

Then she heard something that turned her blood cold. A warning from the Machine came through, but it wasn’t a warning for them.

_Finch!_

She dialed the cell and waited until the phone clicked. “Harold, Harold can you hear me?” Her fists were clenched tight at her side, her breath teared in her throat.

_“Root, whats going on?”_

“Samaritan is coming. You need to get out of there. Harold?” 

She listened with eyes wide at the shuffling mumbled sounds filling the other end of the line. All she could do was listen. Finally, Harold’s voice cut through the distant chaos; faint and pleading. 

 _“No, no wait!”_ he shouted before the sound of gunshots broke out. Loud enough to cause Root to pull the phone from her ear. 

“Harold!” she whispered under her breath, but there was no answer. She hadn’t expected one. The noise faded and she was left with silence and a trembling hand. 

"We have to go back." Root’s mouth moved, releasing only a rasp of breathy air. She couldn’t be sure if she spoke at all. Her reflexes had taken over, almost mechanically forcing her to move.

Shaw caught Root’s eye and raced over. "What's wrong?” 

“Samaritan. They found the subway.” 

Shaw seemed to know what Root didn't say. She filled in the blanks. “Go back. Get Harold and I’ll meet you at the safe house.” 

Root glanced down at her feet. It was too late. Still, she had to go back. She had to try to save Harold, save their work. Would everything be destroyed? The air seemed to leave her lungs and her heart fought to break free from her chest. There wasn't any time to waste. They had to go back. 

“What’s going on?” Reese crossed the sidewalk, brushing off his dusty suit.  

“This car chase, these agents, all this was just a distraction." Why didn’t she stay in the subway? Why didn’t she protect him? The Machine would have protected Harold, but somehow She didn’t know. She didn’t know until it was too late.  

Reese continued to stare at her, not quite sure he understood.

"Harold, he's in trouble." she swallowed hard. It was a lie, but she couldn't bear the reality of this situation. 

Tires screeched, car doors slammed, shots crashed into buildings and cars. Round two arrived in full force, but no one moved. They were too preoccupied to take cover.   

“We have to go. We have to save him.” John sprung into action and bolted towards a car, any car that looked like it might start up. Root followed close behind, but Shaw didn’t move. She stayed back, firing at the remaining agents.  

“Go!” Shaw shouted. “I’ll stay here and draw the fire.”  

"I'm not leaving you again.” Suddenly a new rush of emotions took hold and it was almost enough to knock Root down. “Sameen!” 

Root couldn’t move. She couldn’t force her legs to take the five remaining steps towards the passenger door. John was already starting the engine. He waved her over and shouted, but she remained frozen. 

His words washed over her, cold and distant. She had to go back for Harold, for the work, but she wanted to stay…for Shaw. 

“Sameen!” Root shouted out one more time. 

Shaw pulled back her gun and looked across the street into Root’s pleading eyes. “Go, or I’ll shoot you myself. I’ll be fine.”  

 _But would she?_ There were no guarantees. The uncertainty made Root’s entire body tremble. She stayed there staring until Shaw shouted “Go!” again and jolted her from her thoughts.  

She ran, ignoring the protests pounding through her head. Once she settled into the passenger seat, everything began to hurt. Her muscles ached, every last one. She kept her eyes on Shaw as they drove away leaving her and Frankie behind along with the sound of gunfire.


End file.
